American Horror Story: Invasion
by imgoddamnpluckyremember
Summary: A crop circle appears in the fields of a rural Pennsylvanian commune. The protection of her unstable mother and injured father falls to fifteen year old Sara, as no one is who they appear to be. Traditions that span a century are threatened and the balance of power in the community makes a terrifying shift from order to chaos. But one thing is certain: they are not alone.
1. Front Matter

**Cast**

James Cromwell as Hamish Abbney

Sarah Paulson as Eliza Abbney nee Palmer

Taissa Farmiga as Sara Abbney

Jessica Lange as Georgia Palmer nee Whitbarrow

Lily Rabe as Jane Palmer

Evan Peters as Silas Palmer Jr.

Bradley Cooper as Samuel Lancaster

Danny Huston as Frank Marshall

Zachary Quinto as Cain Marshall

Wes Bentley as Abraham Marshall

Jamie Brewer as May Marshall

Lizzie Brochere as Mina Marshall nee Penderghast

Alexandra Breckenridge as Lilah Marshall nee Connors

Frances Conroy as Abberline Connors

Michelle Page as Anna Connors

Dennis O'Hare as Michael Eddleburn

Michael Chiklis as Morris Fletcher

Dylan McDermot as James Kasenberg

Angela Bassett as Detective Serena McKee

Tongayi Chirisa as Dorian the Undertaker

**Setting**

****Location: ****Outskirts of Grove Township, Cameron County, Pennsylvania**  
**Population:** **129 **  
**Area:** **74 sq. miles total; 73.5 sq. miles of land, 0.5 sq. miles of water**  
**Description:** **Pushed between two mountain ranges and obscured from view, there exists a small farming community with a population of approximately 100. Their way of life is reclusive and religiously devout in nature. They shun vanity, luxury, and most modern conveniences in favor of a more simple way of life. The tiny village is run by a council of four elders—senior members of the community who embody piety, practicality, abnegation, and unbiased candor. Women are expected to bear children, maintain their homes, to cook, clean, and to garden. Men are expected to work in the fields, perform repairs as necessary, and to protect their wives, sisters, and daughters. Guided by the strictest of moral compasses, the majority of people largely believe they have created a utopia in a decayed and rotting society.


	2. Episode 1: The Truth is Out There

It was probably just a black bear rooting through someone's compost bin, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He was concerned about the sheep, mainly, but Abe and his father were seeing to those two while Mina looked after May. He thought he'd heard someone out in the corn, so he took out with his rifle in search of whatever the fuss could be at this hour.

In tramping through the fields, he could hear the early-autumn crickets singing and the stars glittered by the thousands. He'd heard tales of the town not more than a mile or so away before where the lights along the roads shone bright all night and you couldn't hear he crickets or see the stars. What made a person choose such a life as that? Cain couldn't imagine it at all.

His Mina was pregnant. The thought crossed his mind all the time and he was frequently harassed in the fields for smiling like an idiot about it, but he couldn't wait to be a father. He couldn't wait to pass on the traditions of their ancestors to a little boy or girl. It delighted him. Anyone could give him hell for it and he wouldn't act poorly in his own defense. He was giddy and well-aware of it.

But the stars made him think of the thousand things he wanted for Mina and for their unborn child. Most of all, he wanted their happiness to be everlasting. He knew he'd been terribly lucky when the council and her father had agreed to his marriage proposal. Lucky to be deliriously in love with her, and she with him.

They could have been like the Abbneys, and for all that was worth, he was thankful they weren't.

He was going to give up the chase and assume he'd scared off a fox before the corn started to clear a bit up ahead. Unusual, he thought, with his brow furrowed. He knew these fields well—even if he were half-asleep, he didn't think they ended here. He picked up his pace and moved closer before seeing a wide, open patch of land where the corn had once stood tall.

Cain slung the rifle over his shoulder and knelt, studying the stalks. They weren't broken. They were woven. No part of the stalk had been damaged. Not even the finest machine money could probably buy could do something like this. He followed the circle, curiosity getting the better of him. He was awed and frustrated all at the same time.

Something rustled in the stalks behind him, he turned abruptly and raised the rifle like a reflex, searching for a target before he fired.

Up near the house where Frank was inspecting the chicken coop and Abe was securing the gate to the sheep pens, there was talk of going in for the night. The shot from a rifle thwarted the idea and immediately Frank and Abe were bounding off into the fields. "Stay inside!" Abe called to the women waiting at the back door, all three of whom promptly went inside, closing the door behind them and locking it to be safe.

Frank shouted his son's name a few times before he could get an answer.

"Here!" Cain called back, tramping through the corn until he found them.

"Are you hurt, son?" Frank asked, laying a heavy hand on Cain's shoulder.

"No, I'm alright. Are the women safe?" He looked to Abe and gave a nod.

Cain sighed and a smile of relief came over his face. "Good."

"Did you find anything out here?" Abe asked.

"No, but I'm certain the shot scared it off."

"Good lad," his father clapped him on the shoulder and smiled a broad, proud smile. "Back to bed then. Before we've all got to be up in a few hours." The three Marshall men returned to the house and went back to bed without so much as another word.

* * *

She dropped the last of the laundry into the basket at her feet before stooping to pick it up. She glanced over at Sara in the garden picking green beans wondering when her baby had grown into such a pensive scowl as the one presently on her face. "Pull some potatoes too, you can make the ones your father is so fond of," Eliza called, offering a smile.

Sara barely turned up one corner of her mouth, squinting in the sun before she resumed picking as Eliza headed into the house through the back door to distribute clothes to their proper owners. It wouldn't be long before they'd have to harvest the rest of the vegetables in the beds outside; the greenhouse blooms had already started in preparation for the coming colder months.

Quietly she took the stairs to the bedrooms with her basket in tow.

There were three of them, all relatively the same, with beds made of wood harvested from the mountains, quilts that had been made for births and weddings and the like, sparsely decorated with rope rugs made from the scraps of old clothes worn thin. She passed the first door without looking in and entered the second. Sara's, The neatly folded blouses were piled into a dresser drawer beside the skirts, dresses hung with care in the wardrobe, and the same process repeated in the bedroom she shared with her husband Hamish.

She entered the previously untouched room with a stiffness about her. Inside it sat a wooden rocking horse and a handful of other innocent toys. The crib looked ready for a child, but it had been waiting for years for a child that would not return. She pulled the window closed before leaving again, the entire time, her character refusing to take stock of anything in the room, before she locked the door and deposited the key into the pocket of her apron and went back down to the kitchen.

Eliza placed the basket for the wash on a chair by the back door and checked the roast in the oven.

"What were you doing upstairs?"

She nearly jumped through the ceiling before she turned on her heel. Hamish had a habit of sneaking about so quietly he might as well be a ghost. "I was putting the laundry away," she offered a smile that was nothing more than a polite gesture of welcome. "Your favorite shirt is clean again, and your woolen sweater. Those socks with the holes in them are mended too," she turned again, opening the stove one more time to baste the roast inside.

"I saw you in his room."

Eliza stood again and closed the door. "Oh that," her voice was absent of any remote sort of care. "I was airing it out, it smelled musty up there."

"Did you air the other rooms as well?"

She was sour at the idea of another of Hamish's irritating inquisitions, but fought with herself not to show it. "I did. The whole house, as a matter of fact." In nearly eighteen years of marriage she'd gained little more than a child and a skill for telling a good lie. "There won't be many days left to do that, you know."

"No, of course not." His gaze finally fell.

She turned and reached into the drawer for a wooden spoon when he grabbed her wrist suddenly and tightly. She would not give him the satisfaction of avoiding his eyes.

"You forget, Eliza, that I know everything that goes on around here. If you are lying to me, which I trust you are not, I will find out about it." His touch then became uncomfortably tender against the soft inside of her wrist. "May I have your key, please?"

His manner was so polite she could scarcely stand him for it. To get him away from her, she reached into her apron and procured it for him, watching with a slight scowl as he walked away.

"God sees our sins. Never forget it."

If she had possessed any courage, she might have killed him then. Instead she swallowed the spiteful feelings and prayed silently in her head as she lifted the pie from the window ledge and onto the trivet.

* * *

She stood on the porch, a bit wild-eyed, her children shielded behind her. "Go away. Get back in that beast you came in and go away!"  
She might have been a little less fearful if the second man had not immediately pulled out a camera.

Silas broke away from her protection; he was the man of this house, after all. He approached the stranger with his arms folded. "State your business."

"I'm a reporter for the Grove County Gazette and I was hoping to ask you a few questions about the crop circle." James straightened his tie a bit and brushed a bit of dust off the shoulder of his jacket.

"Gazette?" Silas asked, his brows knitting together.

"The newspaper?"

Silas' eyes widened slightly.

"He's here because he's curious about the thing in the corn," Jane spoke softly, pulling her shawl tighter around her. Both her mother and brother turned to look at her.

"What thing in the corn?" Georgia asked, bewildered, turning back to the strange man.

"The crop circle. It's...it's a paranormal phenomenon," how did he explain something like this?

"I saw him in my dreams last night," Jane explained. "He doesn't mean harm, mother."

Silas looked from Jane to Georgia. "Mother, summon the council to the church."

Jane stepped casually off the porch. "I'll lead them there, mother." She offered a friendly smile to the strangers. "Best you leave your contraptions in your…" she gestured to the vehicle behind them, unsure of what name to give it. "You'll scare 'em. They don't like newfangled things. Follow me."

"How do you know so much?" James asked, catching up to her stride.

"The visions," she said softly, as if it explained all.

"What visions?"

"The ones given to me by the grace of God. They are not always pleasant, sir, but it is my cross to bear." After a moment of walking, Jane looked at him. "You're skeptical," she smiled amicably.

"No, I'm…"

"It wasn't a question," her smile grew, showing her pearly set of teeth.

He hadn't expected that. Or anything, really. He'd never even heard of this place. From the looks of it, it seemed so back-woods. James was certain they were all Amish hicks by the look of it, but they weren't the same. Not by a long shot.

"What is this place?" he asked finally.

"Home," she offered, walking along lazily. "Back in the late eighteen-hundreds, a group of folks decided they wanted a much simpler life for themselves and their children, so they picked a spot in the middle of the corn and built a village with only one route in and out."

"I don't follow."

"No. You wouldn't," her words were not malicious, but she continued on anyway. "Everything we have is built on the hard work of our community. Everything is shared, traded. We don't leave our place, sir. It's where we feel safest."

The crumbling white chapel sat ahead of them, its roof sagging on either end as to look like it was frowning.

"And if you threaten that safety," she stopped and turned to the man with harsh eyes. "They will decide what becomes of you. Be warned. People have been put to death out in these parts. It's nothing like you civilized folk."

She walked toward the church, a little more determined, some of the members of their little society filing in as well.

A big storm was coming. Jane Palmer could feel it in her bones.

* * *

"Silence!" Hamish called amidst the nervous chattering that filled the single room in the chapel. The Elders sat in a row at the altar, peering out over the citizens of their secluded commune.

The families of the elders always sat in the first pews. Chairs had been placed to the side for the strangers where they now sat, confused and fidgeting.

The chatter died off and Hamish, standing dead-center, looked over to the men who had invaded his commune. They had forsaken everything.

"The Council of Elders has decided to give you the opportunity to state your business. Please elucidate your circumstances." He sat, waiting to hear what they had to say.

James stood, glancing out at the small crowd with his throat running dry. "We…er…we received word that a crop circle had been sighted in the fields out here. I work for a local newspaper. I would like to write a story if I may."

There were frenzied whispers in the back, to which Abberline responded. "Silence. Silence now. Let the man speak."

Frank leaned forward. "Sir, if you would please, do enlighten us. What is this 'crop circle' you speak of?"

James sighed. "It's a paranormal phenomenon often thought to be linked to intelligent life from outer space."

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Abberline spoke up, her brows knitted slightly in curiosity.

"Aliens," the photographer spoke up. "Aliens are thought to be the creators of these crop circles."

This sparked even greater commotion in the audience, the general hushed whispers tinged with discomfort and fear.

"Enough!" Georgia got to her feet, her mouth pressed into a thin line. The chapel went silent. "I don't know who you people think you are, but you have crossed a line. This is an independent, peaceful community and I see through your fear-mongering ways. Either you leave this place never to mention it again, or we silence you ourselves."

No one spoke for a long moment after that.

James swallowed. "Ma'am, if I might suggest it, may we show you where these circles were sighted?"

The entire commune weaved through the corn in the Marshalls' field to get a look at what the outsiders were on about.

Nearly a hundred yards in, the Elders came upon it and it was a sight ti behold. The rest of the denizens spread out around it, everyone at first seemingly confused, but it was the lay of the corn that shocked them. Not a single stalk of corn broken. Some of the children ran off through the off-shoots of the bizarre circle. Eliza discharged Sara and Silas to collect them.

The photographer passed a photograph of the crop circle from above to Hamish, who studied it carefully. The pattern seemed strange. Even if someone were to do this, it was too complicated for one man and their community as a whole never could have achieved something so bizarre.

Hamish pressed his eyes closed, the image seared into his mind. "Attention!" he called out as Silas and Sara returned with the littlest of the children in arms and the older ones following behind. "We will reconvene in an hour back at the church. The Elders and I must discuss what will be done."

The crowd dispersed, leaving the reporter and his photographer a bit stunned. It was Eliza who invited James back to their house for tea. Silas agreed to attend this affair as a chaperone while his sister's husband was away. It wouldn't do to leave a woman vulnerable to outsiders in a time like this.

* * *

Sara sat beside the photographer, transfixed by his camera. "It…it captures moments?" she asked, both awed and frightened as she looked through pictures of her village. She could even spot herself in the garden in one of them. The shock of it made her gasp and promptly return the camera to the photographer.

He laughed good-naturedly. "It's nothing to be afraid of, here. I'll show you how to use it," he placed the camera back in her hands correctly and guided her aim toward her mother at the kitchen sink. "Now push this button, and…"

The flash sent a burst through the kitchen that spooked the three who had never before seen a camera. Sara immediately dropped it and hurled herself into her mother's protective embrace.

Silas scowled darkly. "Put that thing away," he ordered, his voice tinged with force.

"I apologize," James spoke up. "Thank you for the tea Mrs. …?"

"Abbney," Eliza added softly. "Eliza Abbney."

"Your husband is the…er…leader?"

"That's observant of you. Yes. He is one of them." She nodded, looking at him with a soft kind of affection in her eyes. "Hamish." His name always left a bitter taste in her mouth that even time could not erase.

James smiled, charmed by her warmth. "Observation is half of my job."

"What exactly does a reporter do?" Eliza asked, attempting to make polite conversation.

"They talk to people and write about what they say. Usually what they write is published in magazines and newspapers."

"Ah." Eliza sat at the table, holding her warm mug of tea between her hands to warm them. "I should warn you if you're looking to write about that thing in the corn out here, it won't go over well." She forced a slight smile. "With any of the Elders."

"Yes, I see they're very set in their ways."

"We all are," she said without missing a beat. "Your presence here is an unwelcome one. They view you as a threat to the stability of our village. You'd be better off getting in your metal beast now and going back home."

"Unfortunately, I do have a job to do." His smile became less charming and more unrelenting and Eliza did not like it.

She smiled a little on her own. "Then I certainly hope you're prepared for what might happen next."

In the distance a bell rang signaling the end of the hour-long recess. Sara was quick to slip into her wool sweater before heading out into the crisp gloaming, leaving the others to follow behind.

Silas waited for the outsiders to step out into the night before he followed, securing the door behind him.

* * *

"Let all those in attendance bear witness to this verdict," Hamish spoke calmly. "The Council of Elders has reached a decision regarding these outsiders and what is to be done with them."

It seemed everyone was holding their breath now in anticipation.

"As it is always our wish to act peacefully and without bias," Abberline stood next, "we offer these…visitors…two options."

Georgia stood as well and looked darkly at the foreigners in her midst. "The first: you will both leave this place and never speak of what you saw again. You will tell your people it was nothing more than a mistaken hoax. That there is nothing to see out here."

James opened his mouth to speak.

Frank stood next and raised a hand to silence him. "The second option is assimilation. You will relinquish your vain and luxurious lifestyles in exchange for our own. You will adopt our ways and become one of us."

"Refusal of either of these," Hamish added finally, "will result in a penalty of death."

The photographer laughed loudly. "You can't be serious! Have you all gone mad?" He stood and started for the back of the chapel. "You must be joking. Leave, assimilate, or death?" He laughed again, but no one else did.

Instead, Morris Fletcher, one of the strongest among them, stood from the pew he was sitting in, grabbed the man in a headlock and dragged him outside.

They sat in silence as distant struggle was heard before a loud scream and finally a snap ended it. Morris returned to the chapel and regained his seat.

"Have you reached a decision, Mr. Kasenberg?"

James swallowed. The photographer was dead, no mistake about that. "I choose the first option." His throat was dry and his palms were sweaty and shaking.

He would get in his car and leave without thinking twice. He would not hesitate any longer.

"Very well then," Hamish said with chilling calmness. "Abraham. Kindly escort Mr. Kasenberg to his…_thing._ And see that he does not stick around."

Abraham nodded and stood, waiting for James to join him. James took a final look around at the faces who stared him down.

"Adjourned," Abberline dismissed before the crowd followed the men out into the dusty streets.

Eliza shielded Sara's eyes as they walked past the dead photographer, but she couldn't keep herself from looking. She gave a fierce shudder until she felt her husband's steady hand on her back, leading them both away from the sight of the body before Morris could haul it away and bury him in an unmarked grave.

* * *

He woke in the night to the all-too familiar squeak of the floorboards. Hamish was a light sleeper by nature, an attribute he was glad his daughter had not inherited. Perhaps he did not treasure the girl as much as he might have in a better world, but Sara did not need to bear witness to her mother's ghastly midnight episodes.

Hamish slipped quietly out of bed and down the hall, checking first that his only child was asleep, and then proceeded further down to where he knew he would find her. What he could never figure out was just how Eliza was getting into Henry's room without a key. He kept it with him always, but there she stood at the window in the pale moonlight, rocking a stuffed bear the size of an infant.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…" She sang like an angel. He lingered in the doorway listening for a while. "Please don't take my sunshine away."

The end of her song prompted him to enter quietly and gently squeeze her shoulder. "Come Eliza, back to bed," he told her, his tone gentle. He'd been through these fits with her half a million times in eighteen years. He considered himself an expert on the situation.

But Eliza didn't budge. If anything, she froze, stiff as a board.

"Come now, it's late." He would have to start strapping her down again until these fits subsided. Hamish cursed himself. He should have known the body of that delinquent man would disturb her. Very slowly, he attempted to remove the bear from her grasp, but she resisted and turned to face him.

"You killed him," she snapped. Her eyes were blank and devoid of emotion. "You killed him!" She dropped the bear suddenly, throwing weak punches at him.

He grabbed her wrists firmly and pulled her arms across her chest to keep her from hurting him or herself in the scuffle. She was sobbing, putting up more of a fight than usual.

"You pulled my son from my arms and killed him right before my eyes!"

He wrapped a stiff arm around her and covered her mouth with his free hand. "Shh. You'll wake Sara." He sat with her and rocked her in attempt to make her calm. When she stopped wrestling, when her tears had stopped, he carried her to bed and restrained her before going back to the room to tidy up the toys she'd disturbed.

He picked up the bear last and stared down at it. Its black button eyes looked up at him cheerfully. He could remember Georgia presenting it to Henry for his first birthday, and the boy being so delighted by it.

The bear was innocent enough to the naked eye, but to Hamish it was his every regret. Henry had not lived to cherish the thing and finally to outgrow it. Part of Hamish knew it was his fault. He had done nothing when he so easily could have. Eliza had never forgiven him for it.

He wasn't sure he could forgive himself either.

* * *

"Jane Palmer, will you marry me?"

She clutched the gathering basket self-consciously to her middle and shrank back. The others behind her—Lilah, Mina, and Anna—whispered excitedly and one of them squealed with delight, but Jane recoiled.

Samuel was handsome and kind, and these were the things Jane knew to be true, but she couldn't bring herself to answer. Why was he asking at all? Why bother? She would have sooner preferred not to have the choice instead of this embarrassing scene in the garden for all to see.

She opened her mouth as if to speak and promptly closed it before walking hurriedly away to avoid him.

Instead he chased after her. "Will you, Jane?"

She didn't want to marry anyone. She knew they considered her strange for her visions; it was Father Abbney who had to convince them she had been given a divine gift from God and even then Jane hadn't been sure they believed her.

Jane knew the truth. Her mother had asked it of him.

She pulled her shawl a little tighter around him as he cornered her against the house, now barely a foot from her.

"W-why would you wanna marry me?" she asked softly. "I'm only a cut above Michael Edleburn. Ain't worth the trouble."

Samuel smiled in a charming way. "No. I don't believe _that _at all." Her gaze fell to the ground for a moment.

"I've seen you," he said softly, producing a flower from behind his back. A yellow coreopsis. The last of the summer blooms. "You play with the little ones and tell them stories. They make you glow like a firefly. You treat your mother's garden like a child to be cared for. I've watched you living in your own little world for a while now."

Jane held her breath, staring at the coreopsis intently.

"I've wanted to marry you since I was fifteen years old." He placed the flower in her basket. "I thought someone would steal your heart away before I got the chance."

"Why are you asking me?" she looked up.

He shrugged. "Seemed like the right thing to do."

"But if you're asking then you already have permission," she countered. "Why bother? You're making a scene."

Samuel took her hand and stroked the back of it with his coarse thumb. "I respect you too much not to ask what you think." He let her hand drop and took a few paces back. "You don't have to answer right away. Just let me know when you've made up your mind."

Her heart thumped in her chest like a scared rabbit caught in a trap. She thought of Eliza and how she'd been forced to marry Hamish, and she consented, but not willingly. Their marriage had been a nightmare. These were things no one spoke of, but Jane and Eliza shared more than just garden crops. Eliza's situation was the reason for her disinterest in marriage. Jane counted herself fortunate that no one had bothered.

But if she didn't accept Samuel, what might happen next?

"Sam—Samuel, wait!" she chased after him as he was heading back to the field. He stopped and turned to look her in the eye. She could see his nervousness. How afraid he was that she would reject him. She swallowed thickly and lowered her eyes. Jane gave a slight nod and met his eyes again.

His face lit up like a bonfire and he grabbed her, causing her basket to fall and the garden crops to spill everywhere. He spun with her in his arms, laughing infectiously and it started her laughing too. Whatever she was stepping into, she hoped she'd made the right choice.

"I wanna kiss you, Jane," he said, finally returning her feet to the ground.

She stooped to recover her basket and stood again once she'd collected everything. "Now _that_, you'll just have to wait for." She smiled and turned, walking back to the garden, glancing at him over her shoulder.

* * *

Silas sat on the porch drinking ale with Cain, listening to him talk of Mina.

"I think we're having a girl, but Mina's convinced it's going to be a boy," Cain chuckled.

Silas smiled half-heartedly. He thought of Anna and considered once again the idea of appealing to the Council about a marriage between the two of them. He was certain Abberline would approve, but he couldn't be sure. She seemed to have a fondness for him, but he wondered if that fondness hadn't been influenced by his mother. Silas was sure he wasn't alone in this line of thinking; the other elders had children—one of whom was his niece. They weren't supposed to show bias, but some did anyway.

"What about you though? Have you asked for anyone's hand yet?" Cain asked, draining his cup. "Or did they reject your proposal?"

Silas shoved him with a playful laugh and plucked the leather ball from beside his chair. He bounded off the porch and tossed the ball to Cain before the man returned it to him. "It's a tough business. Gotta make the right choice. The rest of your life depends on it."

Cain joined him in the yard, tossing the ball again. "True. You could ask May. She's taken a real shine to you."

Silas smiled and looked down. "She's a nice girl." He threw the ball to Cain. "Not so sure she's my type."

"And Hamish Abbney is your sister's type?"

Silas caught the ball again, his brows furrowing deeply. "You shouldn't talk about that." He sat on the porch step.

"It's not like it's some big secret. Everybody knows they're unhappy." Cain joined him. "He's stubborn as iron and she's fragile as glass. Those things don't mix well, Silas."

He had a point, but it didn't feel right to hear those things out of someone else's mouth.

"If you had to ask the Council tomorrow, who would you marry?"

"Anna Connors," Silas replied, somewhat sheepish.

Cain nodded. "Not bad. Little plain though. And ginger."

"I like that about her." Silas wasn't afraid of what he'd say. "The whole Commune and how many redheads do we have? Abberline, Lilah, and Anna Connors."

The screen door behind them screeched open as Jane stepped out onto the porch in her nightdress and shawl, a lantern in hand. "Mother and I are going to bed. She wanted me to tell you both not to be up too late. I hear Hamish wants an early start tomorrow."

"I was just going to come in," Silas stood, Cain joining him.

"Mina and I send our congratulations, Jane. Sam's thrilled."

Jane smiled in the glow of the candlelight. "Thank you." She looked Cain directly in the eyes and noticed something different in them, something not altogether human. She forced her smile to stay put, however uncomfortable his gaze made her, but it filled her with a kind of nervous dread she couldn't understand.

"Tell Mina I've said thank you too." She held her shawl a little tighter around her. "I'd love to stand and talk but if I don't go now I'll be exhausted in the morning. Goodnight." She went inside as naturally as possible, but she promptly raced up the stairs and drew her curtain closed.

Whatever was wrong, she wanted no part in it.

* * *

When she was sure the rest of the house was sleeping, Sara climbed out of bed and pushed her door closed, careful of the squeak in the hinge. She then stooped before the trunk at the foot of the bed and opened its latch, fishing under the quilt and afghans laying inside, producing the camera that the dead man had left behind. She had been the first one back into the kitchen when they'd arrived home from the verdict and had smuggled it away before her father could dispose of it.

Sara creeped toward the windowsill looking out at the starry night and the glowing moon above. Could she capture the stars the way the man had captured her? Autumn nights like these were so beautiful…

She did as the man had instructed her to do before, lining up the image and pressing the button. The flash popped, startling her again, but she didn't cry out as she had the first time. Finally, she looked down at the little screen. The image was unfortunately a blur of red and orange leaves on one side and pitch blackness on the other, save for a white smear she could only assume was the moon. But then she squinted, noticing something else there between the branches.

It was the size of a large raccoon, but it didn't look like one she'd ever seen. Its skin was waxy and gray, and it had a row of tiny, sharp teeth that grinned like a possum. But it was the eyes that unsettled her.

Large, black, and glossy. It looked sinister.

No, not sinister.

_Hungry._

Sara hastily pushed buttons in attempt to make the thing go away, and she felt a moment of relief when the screen finally went dark, but her gaze slowly drifted out the window again. The uneasy feeling of being watched crept into her stomach and up into her throat. She threw the curtain closed as fast as she could, shoved the vile thing back into the depths of the trunk, and dove headlong beneath the covers, hiding her head under the bed sheet, whispering frantic prayers. Whatever that creature had been, God had certainly not made it. Worse still, it made her doubt the existence of a God at all.

* * *

The following morning was overcast and it threatened to rain, but Hamish was determined to get out in the fields and destroy the existence of this crop circle. It would mean harvesting a bit earlier than expected, but it was a small price to pay to protect his people.

Eliza sat at the table half awake and in a bit of a stupor as Sara slid the pancakes onto her plate. Hamish was warmed by Sara's care when she knelt beside Eliza and attempted to cheer her up. It was met with little more than a catatonic sigh.

"Mother looks pale. Perhaps Aunt Jane would bring some of grandmother's herbs over to help her sleep."

"That's a rather fine idea, but perhaps your grandmother would come instead. I believe her care might be of comfort to your mother at present." Hamish touched Eliza's hand and it caused her to shudder and recoil. "Why don't you run along and fetch her now."

Sara hesitated, but realized the chances of being attacked in broad daylight were slim. She coiled the knitted scarf around her neck and stepped out into the frosty morning, closing the door behind her.

Hamish stood from his place at the table and carefully helped his wife out of hers. She was dazed in a trance, her wrists purple from fighting against the leather straps at night. She had thrashed beyond the point of either of them getting good sleep. It would make the task of harvesting that much more difficult today, but he hoped the crisp morning would invigorate him as it did when he was still a much younger man. He led her back to bed and covered her up, glad that Georgia was no stranger to Eliza's fits. It would do them all a bit of good to have the woman around. "Sleep now. The work will wait. Whatever it is, I'm sure Sara will manage."

He grew so weary of looking after her. He was no babysitter and he found such care as this irksome, but he deigned not to show this.

As he came back down the stairs, his daughter re-entered their home, letting the cool fall air in.

"You go and fetch the herbs I told you from the greenhouse and we'll have her good as new in no time," Georgia kissed the girl's forehead.

"She'll be alright, won't she father?" Sara asked, her brown eyes gleaming with hope.

"I'm certain of it." He rubbed her arms. He was fortunate to have such a dutiful daughter, though of course it never escaped his wondering mind what Henry would have been like.

"Perhaps I'll bake an apple pie. It's mother's favorite."

Hamish chuckled fondly. "Mine too."

A cry came from upstairs and caused his smile to fade into a grimace.

"Don't you worry, sweetheart. We're gonna cook your mama's favorites, see if we can't cheer her up a bit. Now you run along to the green house. Your father and I need to speak in private."

Sara nodded, glancing up at the ceiling before she made her way out.

Hamish led Georgia upstairs to the bedroom where Eliza lay sprawled and sweaty in bed, her chest heaving. Immediately her mother was beside her, holding her hand. "I trust you've tried poppy extract in warm milk with the honey and cinnamon like I told you? That helped in the early days."

"I have, although I've not got the womanly affinity for brewing remedies."

"No matter," Georgia waved it off. "You be on your way. This job requires a woman's touch. We'll have you right as rain in no time," she stood and tucked the blankets around Eliza. She caught sight of the strap hanging from under the mattress, and then her daughter's bruised wrists before she took her hand and kissed Eliza's fingers a few times. "Don't you worry. We're gonna get you help."

* * *

Abberline sat in the rocking chair mending stockings while Anna knitted new ones. Now and again, she would look up at her daughter and wonder what would become of her when the house was entirely empty. She supposed Anna and her husband could easily move in here, but first that needed a proposal. Anna was somewhat plain and indubitably shy, something Abberline chastised herself for.

The girl was also mute, or was believed to be. She hadn't spoken a word her entire life, but she took instruction well and was a dutiful and dedicated worker in all the tasks she was assigned. She surpassed even Lilah in that regard. While Abberline detested her silence and repeatedly tried to chastise the girl into speaking in childhood, when her father had been alive, Anna had been cherished.

"She's not dumb, Abby, she just likes to take the world in and doesn't have much to say about it, right dearest?" he'd ask Anna and she'd nod with a smile.

Abberline looked on her now with slight disdain and an odd sense of curiosity at wondering how Anna might expect to attract a husband with such silence. But she tried not to labor on it. Perhaps it was best left up to fate. Anna would be married eventually.

"Those socks look lovely, darling. You always did have such a way with knitting needles."

Anna smiled and picked up the slate and chalk she carried around the house. "A wedding present." She wrote and then erased it with her sleeve. "For Jane."

"How thoughtful!" Abberline smiled approvingly. Perhaps it was just as well that Anna wasn't engaged at this moment. Jane surely would have overshadowed her.

Jane Palmer was a sweet girl, but Abberline wasn't fool enough to believe her own simple, demure little Anna could outshine her on her wedding day.

It seemed likely that Jane's brother Silas would ask Anna. Or it had, for a while. Silas had brought wildflowers for the Connors house and Anna had accepted them. Anyone who'd been watching knew unofficially it was a courting gesture, but he'd made no move since.

Abberline knew she was stuck in the old ways. She was the one at Council meetings who always advocated for change and divergence from tradition. Even when that strange Mr. Kasenberg had come along,

A loud knock came from the front door. She exchanged a confused glance with Anna before she set her darning aside and went to it. A muffled "Abberline!" came from the other side.

When she finally opened the door, Abraham Marshall stood before her, panting and sweaty. "Father and Hamish request you immediately. It's a council matter."

Abberline glanced back at Anna who seemed perplexed, but stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind her. "What is it, son? You look unwell."

"We were cutting the stalks," he explained breathlessly. "We found a body."

Unexpected indeed.

* * *

The corpse (decidedly male), was covered in dirt and maggots. It had been stripped of its skin and torso muscles as well as the organs. The head was entirely missing, and the stench was unbearable.

The Elders stood around it in varying degrees of shock and horror at the sight before them, but no one spoke.

"Do we have a murderer in our midst?" Georgia asked finally, breathless and shuddering.

"I think not," Frank offered her a reassuring squeeze of her shoulder, but it did little to comfort her.

"Any of the boy and young men here are familiar with skinning. This could've been anyone," Hamish said with resolute stiffness.

"We should call everyone to the church. Take a headcount," Abberline decided, unable to tear her eyes from the sight of it. "Then we may be able to identify our victim."

"I propose we bury him first. Last thing we need is for one of the women or children to see this," Frank added.

Georgia turned away. "Forgive me. I'm going to go along back to the house."

"Do. I hear dear Eliza is ill. See to her and we'll sort it out for now," Abberline said. She squeezed Georgia's hand reassuringly before the other woman headed away.

"I'll leave the decision of what to do with all this up to you both," Abberline turned to Frank and Hamish. "Are we agreed that everyone will meet at the church in an hour for a headcount?"

Both men hesitated, but eventually Frank nodded. "Agreed," said Hamish, pulling his leather working gloves back on.

Hamish crossed the field for a shovel, but all he could think of was Eliza. She couldn't know about this.

"I hope your wife is well again soon," Frank said as he began digging with his own shovel.

"I have good faith that she will recover. Your prayers, as always, are appreciated," Hamish hefted a load of dirt onto the pile behind him.

The rest of the burial went in relative silence before both men set off to the church.

There was frenzied conversation about the motive behind this gathering. Summonings were not taken lightly by anyone.

"When your name is called please rise," Abberline commanded the procession.

They went through the entire roster of names and not one person was missing. It was vaguely disheartening, as a lead might have assured them of a victim at least.

The startling problem was that the Commune had never been faced with a predicament like the one they were caught in now. Was one among them a genuinely bloodthirsty killer? Hamish leaned over to Georgia to whisper in her ear. "Take Eliza and Sara home," he instructed. "Women and children are dismissed," was his next announcement and with some hesitation, the women herded their children out, Georgia and Abberline following behind to ensure no woman stayed.

No reason to needlessly terrify anyone.

Hamish and Frank exchanged glances. Finally Frank spoke. "Gentlemen, as some of you may know, a body was discovered in the field today. Due to the…er…nature of the crime, murder is certain. Our dilemma is that we have no leads on who would commit an act so heinous, nor are we certain of whom the victim may be."

"You are encouraged to take extra measures to secure the safety of your home and family. We will be enacting a curfew at sundown. No one is to leave their homes. We will also be assigning a watch team to patrol the area as soon as the fields are turned over," Hamish finished.

"Adjourned," Frank added, allowing the traffic to disperse as the last of daylight faded from the edges of the earth.

He and Hamish walked along, watching a fog roll in from the mountains.

"It'll be fine. I'm sure it had nothing to do with any among us, Hamish," Frank was attempting to be reassuring, but he wasn't so sure he believed it.

They bid each other good night and went their separate ways, but as Hamish entered his home, he was certain he was being watched.

No locked door could shake a feeling like that.

* * *

Abraham and Lilah had decided to come and stay with them, as neither Abberline nor Anna could protect themselves against an attacker. The married couple took the master bedroom while Abberline relocated to the one down the hall next door to Anna's.

It felt safer than usual to have a man in the house. How many years had it been since she'd last felt comfort such as this?

It was a welcome change, to be sure.

Arguably, no one had lost more than Abberline had. Her mother, Mabel Abbney, had died younger than expected, but had passed on her elderly duties to her sole remaining child.

Abberline had lost two brothers, a husband, and a daughter to the Choosing. Their losses had aged her considerably. Of course, there was still Cousin Hamish, who had always been kind, but she was not as particularly fond of him as she had been her brothers.

Empty houses reminded her of all the things she had lost until she was so weighted by grief it threatened to crush whatever remained of her spirit. She had Anna, yet, and since the death of her husband seven years earlier, and Lilah's marriage two years before now, she'd taken more comfort from her youngest than she could possibly hope to draw from any of her other endeavors.

She turned over in the bed that had once belonged to her Ellabeth. Lilah's twin sister. Ellabeth had been thirteen and brave when she died; were it not for Lilah's face, so identical to her sister's, Abberline might have forgotten her completely in everything other than name.

Still, she hated to think too much about it. She was no different from anyone else. At one point or another, everyone had lost someone to the Choosing. And she so disliked to think of herself becoming a shell of a person as Eliza was. The child had always been a kind girl, but one with a disposition as delicate as good china.

Abberline tossed again. She was supposed to be unbiased. She faked it well.

As she was finally drifting to sleep, she heard the creak of floorboards and it roused her immediately. She stepped out into the hall, confused in the dark, old eyes searching for something or someone to explain the source of the squeaking. Doubtless everyone's minds were ill at ease at a time like this.

Seeing no one down the hall, Abberline ventured down the stairs to the kitchen and living room, inspecting the locks on the doors, neither of which had been touched. The curtain to the kitchen window had been left open, but otherwise nothing seemed too amiss.

She drew the curtain closed, but her chest filled with a heavy sensation of unease. In the shadows, she was certain something was watching. She lit a candle and inspected the rooms again, but found nothing that would warrant concern. Unable to shake the uncomfortable feeling of an unforeseen presence, she took her candle and ventured back upstairs.

Anna stood at the end of the hall, her back to her mother. She appeared to be staring at the closet at the end of it, but Abberline couldn't imagine why. "Anna, dear. Go back to bed, it's late."

Anna turned to face her, but it was not Anna's face whom she looked upon. It was Lilah's. Abberline blinked for a moment, confused. "Oh…sorry dear, the light… I didn't notice."

Lilah seemed to stare scrutinizingly at Abberline before giving two slow nods. She turned and went back into the master bedroom.

Abberline re-entered the bedroom noticing the curtain had been opened. Her brows furrowed as she went to the window to draw the curtain shut again.

Something was standing on the roof.

It made her stumble backward into the bed frame, the scooting noise spooking both she and the creature on the roof. It turned back to look at her before scurrying away in a fluid, jointless movement.

"Abberline? What's going on?" Abe stood in the doorway, half awake and half asleep, Lilah behind him.

Abberline looked at them, her mouth open to speak, but she looked back out to the rooftop. Nothing there. She closed her mouth, pursing her lips into a thin line. "I'm sorry, dears. Go along back to bed. I've just had a moment of clumsiness."

How exactly did one explain such a thing anyway?

"Did you open the curtains, mother?" Lilah asked.

"What do you mean?"

"The curtains in the bedroom have been opened. Lilah closed them before we snuffed the candles," Abe said.

Abberline shook her head. "No I didn't. I'm terribly sorry. Perhaps the curtain rod is crooked. But might I suggest we all go back to bed? It'll be time to rise before we know it."

This seemed to satisfy Abe. He led Lilah away, and Abberline drew her curtain closed again.

In the next room over, something was not quite right at all.

Anna sat on the edge of her bed, staring out at the moon, wide awake.

At her feet a girl struggled for her life. Anna knelt down beside her, pressed a finger to her lips, and very delicately hushed her before slitting her throat in the dark of the night.


	3. Episode 2: Children of the Corn

**EIGHTEEN YEARS EARLIER**

"You're so fortunate, Eliza. He's such a good little baby," said Abberline Connors.

"I can't wait to be a mama," little Lilah crooned, clinging to her mother's leg.

She was barely sixteen; she hadn't wanted to marry old Hamish in the first place, but she'd been given a beautiful baby boy. She was not, perhaps, as happy as she would have liked to be, but she was comfortable and willing to let that be enough for now. Perhaps love and happiness could come later.

They walked along to the Choosing Ceremony with the rest of the commune at the gloaming. Eliza carried the one year old in her arms while he babbled and kicked happily. No one looked forward to Choosing Day, but Eliza felt some sense of protection in being the daughter of one elder and the wife of another.

As they assembled, the Elders stood before a stone slab in the clearing. Hamish, Silas Palmer (the senior), Abberline's mother Mabel, and the elderly Ruby Scatts waited patiently for the traffic to catch up before they began.

Silas Jr. had been chattering with excitement for days when he had been chosen to carry the oak box of stones to the Elders. He was the helpful sort of boy who relished any kind of importance in communal affairs.

Each stone inside the box bore the name of a commune member, and during the Choosing, an elder would select a stone that would name the person who would have the honor of contributing to the harvest's prosperity.

A hush fell over the crowd as the younger Silas came sprinting to the front with the box in his hands, eagerly presenting it to the leaders of the commune. Hamish opened the box and reached blindly into it, shuffling the stones. He searched the crowd for young Eliza, who met his eyes and smiled with a hint of pride. He had made the right choice when he chose her to be his wife. She had been dutiful, gracious, everything he had hoped for and more. He was not fool enough to believe she loved him, but since the birth of their son, he had grown to love and adore her. Even if she was still a bit of a child.

Finally, he fished a stone from the box, smiling now a little too, as he read the name on the stone aloud. "Henry Abbney." It took a moment before the realization set in and then in shock he glanced at the stone in his hand, hoping there had been a mistake. Eliza's scream rung out through the crowd and called him back fro whatever state of delirious happiness he'd previously entertained.

They pried the baby from her arms; the boy screamed and reached for his mother and she reached back. It took both Abberline, Georgia, and Cain to stop her going after them. It was embarrassing to Hamish to watch his young wife carry on so publicly. Yes, he was entirely mortified.

They brought his baby son to him and onlookers watched without batting an eyelash as Hamish administered the last rites of the ceremony.

Eliza waited in misery, her face hidden in her mother's shoulder. She prayed he would stop it, but instead Hamish placed the boy on the stone slab while the stone bearers hefted a single, heavy block up to the altar.

Georgia shielded Eliza's eyes. "Don't look, baby. Not now." Georgia sang a soft hymn to block the sound as best she could. The sound it made was so sickening Eliza gagged.

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

She stopped to stare at the stone slab, her face ashen with the kind of grief that aged her wounded soul. Her stomach heaved.

"Don't look at it, honey," Georgia wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her back down the lane. "You just come with me."

"He doesn't have a grave, mother," her voice was so soft it cracked.

"Of course he does, baby. Of course he does, just like-"

"He doesn't!" Eliza tore herself away. "He's buried in the field in an unmarked grave," she snapped tersely. Her hand bobbed at her side, unsure of where to go, the other one fumbling with the collar of her sweater. "No funeral. No cross." Her voice crackled and her face twisted before she covered it with her hand. The one at her side seemed unsure of what to do with itself, finally resolving to clench tightly into a fist.

Georgia hugged her tightly. "I know, baby. I _know._" They stood there for a moment, Eliza sobbing while Georgia rubbed her back. "You just cry now. Sometimes tears are just what we need."They stood for a moment, Eliza in the chilly wind, trembling like a leaf clinging to life.

But Georgia was conflicted, in her daughter's grief, between being a mother and being an elder. "Your boy died for a good cause and nothing could be more noble than that."

"He was a year old," Eliza heaved a choppy breath in.

Georgia sucked in a deep breath. "Eliza." By that point the woman was completely unreachable. Georgia seized her shoulders. "Now you listen to me, girl," her tone was sharp as a blade. "Everybody, _everybody _has lost someone to that damned rock. You are no different than anybody else. The only thing that sets you apart is this feeble little disposition of yours that you are so _insistent _on, and between you and me, people are starting to think there is a problem with you. They look at me walking down the road with you and do you know what they think? There but for the grace of God go I."

Eliza stood in one spot, her eyes wide as a startled doe, absorbing the harshness of her mother's words. She turned and promptly began to walk away, but Georgia followed.

"You are weak and overly sensitive and the rest of this community sees that as a reason to make sure _you _become the next person on that altar." Finally Georgia seized her, her voice shaking. "I don't know what's come over you now, but if you want to live to see that girl of yours married, you will get a hold of yourself."

Again, Eliza walked ahead, determined not to say anything her mother might use against her when Georgia called back once more. "Consider yourself lucky. Many mothers would not have the heart to coddle you this long."

"Thank you, mother,' Eliza spat venomously. She tugged her sweater tighter around herself and headed back to the house, feeling heavy and tired. Still, she could not ignore her mother's words. Her grief had stood the test of eighteen years. It pained her to think of what is might be like if Henry had never died, He would be nineteen now; and she could picture him looking handsome like Silas.

But the part that disturbed her most was that she could no longer remember what her baby boy looked like.

He sat with Mina, a hand on the tender, barely-there bump of her stomach. "We're going to be parents, my god, can you believe it?" Cain asked.

Mina laughed. "I love you."

"What? I'm excited." His eyes changed a little, but she couldn't discern how or what had changed.

"I know you are," she cupped a hand to his cheek. "Most men, I think, are not nearly so excited as you are. It's just…lovely." She smiled, her wide blue eyes glittering. "If it's a girl, I think we ought to name her after your mother."

Cain kissed her forehead. "A lovely idea. Mother would have loved it. And you as well, I suspect." Their marriage was very much a recent one, but Cain's mother had died five years earlier of pneumonia and had not been there to bless his decision when he prepared to approach the Elders. Despite his father's seat on the Council, he still found himself inexplicably nervous, but he had not regretted his choices for a single moment. "Another Julia Marshall. May will be thrilled."

Mina rested her head on his shoulder as she watched the other women along the lane placing candles and wreathes of bright fall leaves along the path. "Do you remember our walk?"

"Of course I do."

She laced her fingers with his, smiling to herself. "You told me that we would be the happiest people who ever lived." She remembered a lane lined with white flowers in the middle of summer, the candles illuminating the path in tandem with the fireflies. The whole occasion had been so lovely. She remembered at the time that her small hand had been bound comfortably in his for hours, but she hadn't thought twice about it the whole night. And finally when the cord was removed, they kissed for the first time. She could remember the electricity between them.

Mina cuddled in closer to him and he wrapped his arms around her. "Sweetheart, why don't you go inside. It's getting cold. I have something to do and I'll be along soon." She nodded in agreement and he kissed her head before they parted, she into the house, and him off the steps of the porch.

He walked down the lane, passing a few houses by, and eventually slipped into a greenhouse when it appeared no one was looking.

"It took you long enough. The redhead looks good on you. Or as well as human skin can, I suppose," he touched one of the blooms in a pot with a delicate hand.

"It wouldn't have taken me this long if _someone_ hadn't been so hasty," Anna replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Why'd you pick the mute one, anyway? Not like you to pick the easy prey."

"She_ was_ easy prey. She was also _convenient_ prey. You'll notice the only other human in her home is one who has authority here."

Cain shrugged indifferently. "True. But I've successfully infiltrated a full house with an authority as well. I'll have the mission completed long before you do if you keep taking them one at a time."

"You were sloppy with his burial. If we're calling it that."

"Oh, I wasn't sloppy. It was intentional. Where's your sense of sport, sister? Just because we're on a mission doesn't mean it needs to be boring." He picked up the garden shears and observed the sharpness of its edge with his thumb.

"The last thing we need is to have our cover blown by your foolish mistakes." She kept her voice low.

"That little brat that belongs to their leader got a photo of me the other night. We'll have to snuff that one out next."

"She doesn't know what she saw. As far as I'm concerned, we could drive her a little mad and convince her to take her own life."

"That is _so_ like you. Always playing with your food before you eat it," Anna rolled her eyes and snipped a few more herbs.

"Soon enough it won't matter anyway."

* * *

They sat in the quiet of the living room together; Eliza rocked gently in her chair, staring into the fireplace while Hamish read his Bible and Sara and her grandmother worked on their respective projects in embroidery and knitting. The quartet was silent, but for the occasional pop of the log in the fireplace.

"Sara," her mother's frail, little voice called out from the rocking chair in the corner. The fire crackled in the fireplace beside her, the glow of the flames dancing on her cheeks, but even in the warmth of the light, she still looked pale.

Sara looked up, pausing in her embroidery.

"Be a dear and fetch me some herbs from the garden for a sleeping sachet. The lavender, mint and chamomile, please."

Sara looked fearfully out into the night. "I-in the dark?"

Her mother stared curiously at being questioned. "What's the matter? You look suddenly pale…"

"Sara, your mother has asked you to do something," Hamish reminded her sharply, looking up from his Bible. "Do as you are bid."

"There's something out there," she whimpered, clutching the embroidery fearfully to her chest.

"You've been out in the dark before, what could possibly be different now?" Eliza's tone was curious, but tinged with restless, exhausted irritation.

"Please. I-I don't feel well."

"Don't make excuses, Sara," Hamish cautioned. "Go and fetch your mother her herbs."

"Oh for heaven's sake, I'll get them," Georgia stood, but so did Hamish.

"I will not have this disobedience." He grabbed the girl by her arm roughly and hauled her toward the back door.

"Please don't make me go," Sara cried, fighting him as he pried the back door open. She couldn't catch her breath; panic was beginning to drown her like a river.

He pushed her outside with blatant disregard and promptly locked the back door.

"Let me in! Let me back in, please, it's going to get me," she wept, pounding against the glass to no avail.

"I will not open this door until I've seen that you have heeded your mother's request."

Sara stood trembling in the dark, glancing from the back door to the greenhouse ten yards away. Finally she decided it was wiser to be in the greenhouse than it was to be out in the open, so she sprinted forward and hurried inside, latching the door behind her. In the moonlight, her head was swimming. She grabbed the gardening shears and clipped the herbs hastily, her hands shaking futilely as she reached for several sprigs at a time.

Just as she was clipping the last of the herbs, something from behind. It made an ominous clicking noise, growling as it emerged from the shadows. Turning slowly, she stood in front of something identical to herself. Same ashy colored hair, same long nose, same brown eyes. It watched her curiously for a second and then lunged for her throat as she suddenly jabbed out with the shears.

Her blow had stabbed it directly in the eye.

The thing let out an inhuman screech, returning to its normal form that was much more grotesque than the picture she had taken mere nights ago. Sara retaliated with a scream of her own, but kicked it into a shelf of pots under the table and wasted no more time running for the door to the greenhouse. Her sweaty fingers fumbled with the latch, when it stuck as it was prone to do. She heard the clink of pots behind her, sparing a second to glance over her shoulder.

It was crawling toward her.

She yanked on the latch a bit harder and the rusty bolt came loose before she ran out, tugging the door shut on its hand behind her as she fled screaming into the night. Her fuss had clearly drawn her father's attention, as he was waiting with the door opened for her.

Sara all but flew into the kitchen, tossing herself into the furthest corner from the door and curling into a ball.

"What's come over you?" Georgia picked her up off the floor.

"I-it's out there," she stammered through her tears. "Th-the thing. It's in the gr-green house." Sara hid her face in her grandmother's shoulder.

Hamish exchanged a glance with Georgia before he grabbed his shotgun from the wall and went outside to investigate.

Eliza appeared suddenly in the doorway, her afghan hanging limply around her shoulders. "Is everything alright?" she asked softly.

"Yes it is," Georgia responded before anyone could answer the question negatively. She peeled Sara off of her chest and dried the girl's eyes, pushing the hair off her face. "You're just fine you sit here while I make us all some tea."

Georgia was pouring the hot water into cups when Hamish re-entered. Sara and Eliza both looked up wordlessly from the sachets they were working on, but only Sara truly shrunk.

"I don't know what you think you're playing at," his voice was so gentle and still that it would not have disturbed a humming bird, but it made Sara sink a little deeper into her seat. She was never one to avert her eyes from the thing that scared her most, but her eyes were filled with fear, and Hamish could see how deeply it struck her. The very human sadist in him liked that. He enjoyed being in control and it was almost satisfactory to watch her crumple to the size of a mouse. "But the next time you refuse your mother or I," he took her by the arm, "and tell a lie on top of it," Hamish took her up the stairs and down the hall, "you will face far worse than this."

"Please, it was there, I swear on my life, it was," she drew heaving breaths. "It was there, it had skin like wax and it looked just like me—!"

He opened the closet door and placed her inside. "This is madness Sara, can't you see that?" One lunatic in the household was quite enough. He indulged her mother out of some sick sense of guilt, but he would not do the same for her. "I suggest you pray. Pray hard and reflect on the things you've done." Hamish closed the door on her and locked it from the outside.

As a child she had never acted out. The one time she had, she'd spent all afternoon crying and breathless and terrified that the walls of the closet were closing in on her. She remembered throwing up and her mother coming to her rescue immediately, but she had never disobeyed after that.

Until now.

She tried to reassure herself that the walls were not going to collapse. She tried to find comfort in the darkness, and even to pray, but the moment her folded legs touched the wall opposite her back, panic had begun to set in.

If she didn't die in this closet, it would be a sure miracle.

* * *

**TWELVE YEARS EARLIER**

She had some kind of morbid affinity for death. She enjoyed wandering cemeteries, sometimes with her sister and sometimes not. The point was that she found more comfort and solitude among the dead than she did among the living.

They were walking along one day in relative silence. Now and again, Ellabeth would stop and stare at a cross with sadness and longing in her eyes. She'd reach out to touch it for a moment and then walk on. It made Lilah shudder every time.

Eventually they sat on Undertaker's Hill, lording over the stick crosses below. The cemetery was a crowded place; bodies probably buried on top of other bodies. Ella held her knees to her chest and sighed deeply. "Do you ever dream of escaping?"

Lilah turned to look at her, bewildered. "Of course not! Our commune was built to protect us from the barbaric ways of the others." It was something that had been preached to her since childhood and she now believed in it whole-heartedly.

Ellabeth fell silent.

"You know what they do to women who try to escape," Lilah mumbled, prodding the dirt with a stick.

"I wish I were dead."

"That's a horrible thing to say," Lilah snapped, staring Ella down hard.

Instead Ellabeth rested her chin between her knees. She looked tired, aged well beyond thirteen years. Rode hard and put away wet, as their father said. Her face momentarily seemed to sag and turn slightly gray before she drew a shaking breath and hid the rest of her face while she cried.

For a moment, Lilah was unsure of what to do or say, but she eventually scooted up to Ella and put an arm around her. "Don't cry. It's alright."

"It's not," Ella sobbed. "It's not. It's _not_." She heaved gasping breaths. "I don't belong here. I don't belong anywhere!"

Lilah held her firm and close. "But you do! You're my twin sister—my other half. You belong with me. We're like two pieces of a puzzle."

"I don't fit!" she insisted, convinced. Ellabeth stood and headed down Undertaker's Hill at a brisk pace.

"Why are you so sad?" Lilah tried to follow.

Near the bottom of the hill, Ellabeth fell forward, tripping over a stone and tearing a hole in her dress, which only served to make matters worse. "I don't know," she wailed helplessly. She would go to her grave never knowing why.

A month later she was Chosen.

The day of her Choosing, she was the most relieved she'd ever been. Her willingness to go to the altar was largely misinterpreted as an outstanding example of sacrifice, because she behaved with more calmness and clarity than even men twice her age had done.

She laid on the stone slab and sighed a breath of relief into the still chilly spring air. Her mother sniffled, but her sisters cried and clung to each other. _'Don't be sad,'_ she thought. _'It's better like this.'_

Ellabeth was the obedient child, quick to heed instruction or warning. She'd been known as a child for hair that looked like fire and a ceaseless smile. If anyone were to recall her to someone, that was what they'd say.

But most importantly, everyone called her brave.

* * *

"Close your eyes—and no peeking!" he insisted, greeting Anna in the stable as she was tending the horses. She smiled and wordlessly obeyed, waiting for whatever he'd brought. Silas arranged her hands and then placed a small box in her hands. "Alright, open."

Anna did as he asked and beamed with excitement. "Fresh strawberries. I know you love them and they're the last of my mother's variety from the greenhouse."

Anna beamed, setting the strawberries aside, and took the slate from the pocket of her apron. 'Thank you.' She wrote.

He took her hand and squeezed it softly. "I'm going to do it. After Jane's wedding, I'll appeal to the Council."

The smile fell a little from her face, her eyes watering.

"You still want to, don't you?"

She nodded and threw her arms around his neck. He hugged her tightly in return. "You're my best friend and I want you beside me for today and all the days to come."

After a moment, Anna backed up and wiped her eyes.

Silas would not have asked anyone else—he could never envision himself being happy with anyone else. Cain's sister May was a nice girl, but Silas doubted they could be as in love as he and Anna. She didn't speak, but it had never bothered Silas. He liked it about her, if anything. Viewed her as a quiet observer, and he appreciated it.

As children, they ran and played together without bias toward her…incapabilities. And when her sister Ellabeth had died, he brought her a bouquet of baby's breath from the garden to take her sadness away.

It was then that Silas noticed several of the horses were out in the pasture, but the one left in seemed uncomfortable about something. It whinnied loudly and pawed at the ground, clearly anxious. Silas moved Anna aside and pulled the latch on the stall's gate the horse immediately raced out to the pasture as if he were desperate to get away. "What got into that guy?" he asked, looking to Anna for an answer, but she merely shook her head and shrugged innocently.

Anna twisted the stem and leaves off of a berry and popped it into her mouth, reveling in the sweet juices it produced. She took her slate again and wrote another 'Thank you' before shooing him away with it.

He walked away, glancing over his shoulder at her with a small wave. Anna returned the gesture, before stepping into a stall a short way down and finishing the burial she had been working on. She covered the fresh grave with hay and returned the shovel to its proper place before taking her berries and going along on her way.

* * *

Eliza opened the door to the closet and knelt down, reaching out to touch Sara's hair. She was curled up in a ball, her hands clamped over her ears. At some point, she'd fallen asleep that way. She flinched at her mother's hand and sat bolt upright, the fear slowly leaving her eyes measure for measure when she realized it was only her mother.

"Do you need the bucket?" Eliza asked.

Sara shook her head but slid into her mother's arms. "I didn't lie. Something was out there," she whimpered.

"Shh. No more of that now. What's happened has happened, and we can't change it. All we can do is move forward." She held Sara for a minute. "When did you fall asleep?"

"He told me it would be alright," Sara said. "He told me if I closed my eyes and went to sleep, he would keep me safe."

"Who could've told you that?" Eliza asked, bewildered.

"The boy. He promised to protect me. He knew my name."

Eliza inspected the closet behind them, but the space was so small another person could not possibly have gone unnoticed.

They both stood, staring into the closet for a moment before Eliza closed the door and let Sara lead her back down the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, Eliza glanced once again at the closet door, unsure of what she believed in.

* * *

Sam glanced behind them in the gloaming, smiling at Georgia Palmer who followed at a far enough distance not to overhear their conversation, but close enough to ensure nothing went amiss. He waved over his shoulder, Jane's arm linked in his.

"I think your mother likes me."

Jane laughed. "She likes many people. I think she's just excited that another one of her children is getting married." She turned back and smiled at her mother too. "And that she'll have more grandchildren, I guess." Jane grinned at him.

"We'll give her more than she knows what to do with, then."

Jane looked briefly horrified.

"With your permission of course. Don't look so scared," he laughed.

Once again, jane caught herself giggling. "I guess I never really thought about kids. About having babies, any of it, really."

"Were you just not gonna get married?" he asked.

"I thought about it, but you showed up on my doorstep with that pitiful face of yours and I couldn't turn you away. I had to marry you. I don't think anyone else would have."

He took the joke with a good-natured laugh, and Jane felt reassured to do the same. It was a nice change of pace. Not one she saw often. Of course, Cain and Mina were happily married but they were content to be separate entities in their household. Jane and Sam were different. They could joke and laugh. Already, Jane was feeling much more comfortable about the situation and her acceptance of his proposal.

"Do you think about having children?" Jane asked after a quiet pause had passed.

"I don't think about it often, but I've thought about it before, yes." She looked surprised by his response. "Don't look so shocked, men think about their kids too. Your father probably thought about his kids all the time. It's…it's a pride thing."

"What do you mean by that?"

Sam shrugged and paused in his walk. "Fields are just fields and repairs are just repairs. No one ever pats you on the back for a job well-done 'cause everyone's got the same job to do. Just the way it goes. Can't really take pride in the work you do, but kids…" he paused, trying to decide how best to put it. "Nobody's ever made the same one twice. It's a little person you get to teach and love." He looked at her for a moment and then his eyes fell. "Kids are your one shot at putting some good out into the world."

Jane couldn't respond to that. She'd never thought too much about it, if only in passing. She never thought of herself as maternal, only gentle. But clearly he had seen something in her. The mere thought made her fidget with anxiousness. "What if…what if I'm not a good mother? I'm not good at any of that teaching stuff."

"Then you can love 'em and I'll teach 'em."

"I think you got me wrong, Sam." She couldn't look him in the eye.

"Where you see a wall, I see a door," he shrugged again. "Between you and me though," he leaned in closer, "I'd rather it was just the two of us for a while."

There was something relieving about that. He was willing to be patient. How had she ever gotten so lucky? She was no different from Eliza; she barely knew Sam at all, and here he was, charming and charismatic, winning her over so smoothly and easily.

They walked back to the house as the last of the light drifted away and he bid her goodnight. "Tomorrow."

He said it like a promise.

"Tomorrow," Jane echoed.

In less than twenty-four hours, she'd be married.

* * *

**EIGHTEEN YEARS EARLIER**

She landed off the last step at the back door in a long stride. The chilly spring air nipped at her skin, but a fire burned inside of her.

"Where do you think you're going?" Hamish demanded, stopping on the back step.

"Why should I stay here?" she spat, "Under a roof with a man who murdered my son."

Her words enraged him. "You could be killed for this," he reminded her as if it would give him some sort of authority over her.

Eliza turned on her heel, arms spread wide and stopped dead where she stood. "Go on then. Open fire."

The moment stood still for a painful thirty seconds before he charged out after her, he grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back, and took a fistful of her hair, pushing her back toward the house.

"You ought to consider yourself lucky," he snapped at her, hauling her up the stairs. "I could tell everyone of this transgression and you could be killed."

He marched her to the end of the hall and opened the closet door before he threw her carelessly in. "But I am a man of pity and piety, so I will forgive you this one time and say nothing." Hamish leaned in close.

"But the next time you threaten me with an embarrassment such as this, I will not hesitate to kill you myself."

He slammed the door closed before she could get a word in edgewise and locked it.

He left her in there for three days.

On the third day, he unlocked the door to let her out and the stench of her imprisonment repulsed him. Still, as she emerged, he felt the need to speak. "Be thankful for the day, wife," he told her. "And be thankful that I let you live to see it."

Eliza glowered with slow-burning hatred. "My. Hero," she snapped and went to the kitchen to get the bucket to clean out the closet.

As she scrubbed the wood she thought of many things. Of Henry, of Hamish. Most importantly of the people who would subject her to this torture. She wanted to leave. She wanted a chance to start over in a world without Hamish. It took all her strength not to plot his murder.

She could picture it a thousand different ways; first she imagined swinging an axe into the back of his head over dinner. She thought of strangling him with a dish rag, stabbing him in the eyes with kitchen forks, slitting his throat. Bloody scene after bloody scene with no remorse until she was seeing red and thought her hands had turned bloody.

She wiped the floor clean of the vinegar and dumped the brush back into the bucket.

As she headed down the stairs and out the back door, she dumped the bucket and sat on the step in silence for a long time.

_'If I am going to kill him,'_ she thought,_ 'I'm going to make sure it looks like an accident.'_

And she would spend the rest of her afternoon intricately plotting every single detail.

* * *

The church bell chimed mid-morning to signal the hour. On a wedding Sunday the service always began later than normal to allow adequate time for preparation before the ceremony would take place.

For once, Jane had shirked the usual ivory wool sweater and longer skirt for a plain, ivory colored dress that Georgia had surprised her with that morning. It looked unassuming on the hanger, but once she had clipped into it and wrapped a white, chunky knitted shawl over her shoulders, it seemed somehow elegant with its long skirt and sleeves. Sara suggested the ribbon that was now tied around her waist and Eliza was weaving an assortment of left over blooms into her hair.

The sisters sat alone in silence.

"Are you nervous?" Eliza asked suddenly.

"No," Jane's voice was quiet, but she didn't smile.

Eliza looked at her in the reflection of the mirror and forced a smile before braiding in another flower. "You always were the braver one."

"Were you?" Jane asked. "Nervous...I mean."

The air grew stale and strained. Eliza locked eyes with her in the mirror for a moment, but caught sight of herself. She was thirty-six years old and looked forty-five. Her hair was turning from blonde to silver and little wrinkles around her eyes and on her brow were more prominent than ever. "Not nervous," she shook her had and resumed doing the rest of Jane's hair. "Disgusted. Horrified. Suicidal." She let the last word slip out like dandelion fluff carried away in the breeze. "Not nervous."

The gap of silence between them grew wider and more unpleasant. Jane couldn't decide how she should rectify the situation, so instead she went on. "He isn't like most men, Liza."

"Good," Eliza said, if a bit too sharply. "If he ever becomes like most men I'll bash his face in."

Jane watched her curiously as she finished her work. Eliza's face had, for quite some time, been an intricate series of scowls, and Jane could not imagine a life like that for anything.

"I want better for you, that's all."

"Are you finished? You don't want to be late for your own wedding, sweetheart," Georgia called from down the hall.

Jane stood and Eliza embraced her. "It will be better," Jane insisted.

"Don't turn out like me," Eliza was crying. Jane looked into her eyes and it felt like she could see her sister's very soul leaving her through a wide crack that could no longer be closed, at will or by force.

Jane hugged her again.

"Come on now, we're going to be late," Georgia appeared in the doorway. "Oh, look at you both." Her smile turned into a warm and affectionate one. "I knew the day would come when we'd all be standing here like this."

Jane watched Eliza's face turn cold. "Spare us, mother. We don't have the time." Eliza grabbed Jane's hand and dragged her out of the room without hearing another word.

* * *

Jane and Sam sat at the head of the familial table, their arms bound together by the traditional cord. Some men might have let go of their new wives' hands, if only for a moment, but following the initial time it took to adapt to the strangeness of it, they not only held hands, but worked together, passing dishes along from one person to the next.

He kept whispering things in her ear that would make her laugh and leave everyone else guessing. Many people who knew her well had not ever seen her so outwardly happy or excited.

He was changing her already.

The gifts from other families were accepted one at a time—everything from heirlooms to new socks for their home together had come through and had been taken into the house.

Sam had two brothers who ceaselessly teased Jane until he told them to stop, but she'd been laughing too hard to care or notice.

Jane was delighted to think that perhaps she would be right after all. Things would be different.

But as she was sitting beside her new husband, a headache rose deep in her head and worked its way between her eyes, refusing to budge.

"Jane, are you alright?" Sam asked quietly, squeezing her hand for reassurance.

"Yes," she forced herself to smile, but she felt ill. Something was wrong. All wrong.

Cain and Mina approached the table, both smiling as if nothing were wrong. Jane tried to smile, but her eyes were stinging.

"Are you alright, Jane?" Mina asked, noticing clearly that Jane's jovial mood had changed.

"Yes. I'm alright. Too much ale, I suspect. I should slow down." But it wasn't the ale.

She looked to Cain, noticing for the second time that something about him seemed off, cut she couldn't decide what it was. "Nonsense, it's rare there's real reason to celebrate. You both ought to."

Malice. The word dug itself into her mind with claws and made her shudder. "Could we step outside?" she turned to Sam. "I could use some air."

MURDER

MURDER

MURDER

She saw red before her eyes as Sam helped her up.

Something far worse than she could have dreamed was coming. What was it?

They stood outside the barn, the night air growing chillier by degrees and mere seconds. She vomited in the weeds while he tried to keep the hair out of her face. He offered her his handkerchief as she stood.

"Do you feel better now," he finally asked.

"A little, but could we sit out a while? I don't want to ruin the fun."

"Of course we can."

He helped her sit and joined her in the frosty grass willing to give her all the moments in the natural world.

* * *

Silas watched the dancers with a faint smile and eventually his eyes wandered to Anna, who looked radiant and jovial under the light of the lamps. Should he ask her to dance? Would anyone think anything of it if he did? What difference did it make. He was going to marry her.

"You're next, you know."

He jumped a little and turned to see Eliza behind him. Hamish must've taught her how to creep around so soundlessly. That or he'd simply not been paying attention. Still, Silas smiled a little at her. "Yeah. I suppose you're right."

"Mother's not going to quit. Now that Jane is married, she's not going to stop harassing you about it. You know how tenacious she can be."

"Of course," Silas nodded. "She'll have her way soon enough, I suppose."

"You've asked after Anna then?" Eliza asked, a brow raised.

"No. Not yet anyway. I thought I'd let Jane have her day in the sun."

"That was kind of you."

He followed his sister's gaze across the room to Anna, who was clapping and dancing with one of the groom's brothers. "Does she know?" Eliza asked.

"I told her I was appealing. She was happy."

"Do you ever worry her children might be…like her?" He looked at her, offended. "Oh come on, don't look at me that way. I think she's a wonderful girl. She's always been kind and generous and when you marry her, I will love her as much as I love Jane," Eliza insisted. "But do you ever think about it?"

Silas looked over his shoulder. "Not really, no." He turned back to Eliza. "Plenty of people around here got bigger problems than conversation. I don't think I'd mind one way or the other. They'll be my kids, won't they?"

Eliza nodded. She knew it was true that from a general standpoint, it was difficult, if not impossible to see true fault in ones' children. Small things—minor indiscretions, the innocent things parents deemed "naughty." But on a much bigger picture, she supposed Julia Marshall had always loved May, Abberline had always loved Anna, and if anything became of her children with Silas, Eliza had good faith that Anna would love them too.

Mothers had many jobs, but the most important one was bearing, raising, and loving her children.

"Silas?"

He turned to respond and caught the sight of May Marshall before him. "Will you dance with me?" she asked.

"Of course he will. He'd love to," Eliza answered for him. "You go now. I should find Sara."

Silas kissed his sister's cheek before escorting May out to the dance floor where he began a slower dance with her to the sound of a harmonica, a hand drum, and a guitar.

Eliza searched the guests for Sara but found no sign of her. Given what she'd said about the boy in the closet, it gave Eliza cause to worry and she set about to find Hamish.

* * *

Finally, Jane and Sam rejoined their entourage when she was feeling a little better. "It won't be long now," he spoke softly, kissing her temple and making her warm again. She felt heavy with exhaustion but forced herself awake to join their guests.

Sam was talking to his brothers and Jane was attempting to be interested in the conversation, but she felt weary. Instead, her mother took her attention and hugged her. "I know I don't say it often," Georgia tucked a stray hair behind Jane's ear, "but I'm so proud of you. Your father would be too. I think he would have liked your Samuel."

Her Samuel. It made Jane smile a little.

"You seem a little pale, are you alright sweetheart?"

"Yes. I feel a little ill, but I think it's the ale. I threw up before but it's much better now." It was a lie, but her mother seemed to believe it to some degree. "It seems so late."

Georgia chuckled. "It is. We're never awake at this hour are we?" Everyone seemed to go to bed not long after the sky was dark and rise before the sun out of habit. But weddings were a different affair worth celebrating into the late hours of the night.

Sam squeezed her hand and she offered a smile in return. The music halted.

"Time for you both to walk," Georgia said in a hushed tone, escorting them to the door.

Sam and Jane emerged from the barn into the crisp night, lit overhead by the full moon. Young children raced with their matches to light candles along the road all the way to through the little village.

"I didn't think you'd say yes," he said sheepishly for only the two of them to hear. Jane's eyes studied him in the dark for a moment. "I'm very glad you did," he clarified. "But I was terrified you wouldn't."

Jane remained silent for a moment as if she were thinking over his words. "You made it hard to say no," she said after a while.

He smiled a little at that. "How?"

She seemed to think her response through before she spoke again. "You gave me this feeling like you were somebody I could belong to." The response seemed to genuinely surprise her husband, but she went on. "You asked me. You asked me if I wanted to marry you. It made me feel…I don't know. Important somehow, I guess. You don't see it much."

Sam squeezed her hand tightly. "You are. You are the most important person in the world to me, Jane. No one could matter more to me than you."

She stopped walking and stared at him for a moment. She'd spent so much of her life living under the notion that she was nobody, and here he was. "Do you mean that?" she asked, blinking back tears.  
"With all my heart I do." He held her face in his free hand for a moment and kissed her forehead before they set off again.

Finally they arrived to the clearing where Hamish was waiting. The couple approached and waited for the blessing to commence.

"Today you have committed yourselves to the vows of matrimony in the eyes of the Lord and witnesses of this community. These vows will follow you as you walk through life, side by side. Remember fondly your good days and learn from the bad."

There was something oddly ominous about these woods at night. The trees were nearly bare and reached out like claws. Jane glanced around the clearing with the threat of danger in her bones and the faint taste of iron on her tongue. She tried to shake it away and pay attention as the cord was removed.

"You may kiss your bride," Hamish said and stepped back.

Sam's lips were gentle on hers. For a moment Jane was lost in it, but then she felt strange about having him so near with so many eyes watching.

No, that wasn't it.

She looked out at the people who had seen her grow from a small child into a young woman and finally a married one. There were familiar faces everywhere, but somehow they seemed so foreign. A murder of crows up later than what was seemly squawked and the air around them seemed to drop by degrees.

She saw a vast pair of black wings fan out from behind Hamish, who stood as though he were frozen.

Jane looked over his shoulder and saw a man with wings there sitting on the fence. "Who are you?" she asked.

No answer.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

He smiled with crooked teeth and tipped his top hat. His skin was darker than any she'd ever seen before.

UNDERTAKER.

She shuddered. "What do you want from us?"

BLOOD.

"Jane? Jane! Are you alright?"

She was laying on the ground, sleepy and limp. She could vaguely feel Sam's arms scoop her up off the ground and carry her back to his home, quietly reassuring everyone that she was fine, just a little tired. Some who had seen her convulse remained silent, but obviously unconvinced.

Once home he was careful to slip the dress over her head, leaving her thin slip behind. He took off her shoes and slid her under the covers, letting her hair down and pulling the flowers from it. He kissed her head and snuffed the candle. She mumbled a little with her eyes closed.

"The Undertaker's coming. It's blood he wants."


	4. Episode 3: Host

**1918**

_'Funny,'_ Dorian thought, as he struck the heel of his boot into the end of a shovel before he pried out more dirt. _'Funny how they said "Come with us, Dorian, you'll be the founding father of diversity.'_ He swore, striking the shovel deep into the ground again. "Father of diversity my black fuckin' ass!" he said louder than he perhaps should have. Instead, he cast the shovel aside and pushed the oak casket into the hole and began to cover it. George had convinced him to come along-he'd made it all sound so appealing. A quiet life away from society to live simply. It appealed to him, and George promised Dorian a degree of importance as the only black man—the only black family to join the commune.

And yet here he was, digging graves and hauling bodies to-and-fro.

It was supposed to mean a good future for his daughter. It was supposed to mean a good home for his wife to manage. A place to raise a bigger family.

He was the man forced into doing the jobs no one wanted to do. He should have known he'd been no more an outcast here than he had been in Philadelphia. He'd been stupid and foolish with dreams too hopelessly big to obtain. He cursed himself daily for that.

Dorian stood back and looked at the hill he'd created over time. It was a macabre kind of payback, but he looked on it with pride. Whenever it rained, the bones of the deceased, whom he'd taken from their coffins, stuck out in odd places creating a grotesque sight. He'd spend a day or two packing dirt around the bones until the hill looked like a hill once more and less like a heap of bones and rotting skin.

Undertaker's Hill. His only legacy. When he died, he hoped a legend would carry over with it.

Dorian put his shovel back in the shed and headed out of the cemetery. The other men were coming in from the fields in a flock like birds migrating as he joined them. "How's the harvest, Eustace?" he asked his neighbor.

"Piss poor. I don't know what they're gonna do about it. The gardens haven't produced good crop for the women either. George thinks its the soil."

Dorian shrugged. "Might be it is. Time'll tell."

And then winter came.

There wasn't a single person who didn't feel the effect of the famine. Families began to ration their foodto a single meal a day. There were greenhouse thefts and underground talks of leaving the commune altogether, even if it was punishable by death or flogging. Anything was better than starving to death.

Children were skinny and tired and refused to play, wives were distraught by their inability to keep the children fed and blamed themselves for how poorly their gardens had grown.

People died. If not from starvation, then from suicide.

The first thing anyone noticed was that Marcus Josep's daughter went missing. They sent out a search party, but with no leads, they gave up the search, assuming she ran away.

Then it seemed one after another went missing until ten were gone. The night Dorian's daughter went missing was the final straw. He wasted no time going out to look for her—time lost was time she'd spend out in the cold and for a ten year old girl, it was dangerous.

"Bring her back," his wife, Nora, sobbed before the neighbor led her back inside.

Dorian would find her alright. And he'd kill the son of a bitch who took her.

While others scoured the fields and the woods, Dorian searched the commune itself. Lissa knew nothing of woods or of the fields, and so he guessed she could not have gotten far.

He peeked into sheds, called her name again and again. But he found nothing.

"Why don't you come on inside and warm yourself." Eustace invited him in. "We've got a stew in the pot on the fire."

Dorian, starving, could not resist. He came inside and sat at their table, making casual conversation. "All these people missing though. Something ain't right about it."

Eustace stood at the counter cutting meat for the stew while his wife prepared some tea.

"It _is_ a shame. Although, I can't say I blame 'em for running off. I don't approve of course, but I can't blame them," Mary Beth shook her head.

Dorian's eyes wandered to the counter where Eustace was chopping. "What kind of meat you got there?" he asked.

"Oh, a little of this and a little of that," Eustace said, pulling some skin away from the muscle. Dorian stared for a moment, thinking of how strangely dark the flesh seemed.

He realized, too, that their clothes were not as loose as most peoples' had become…

"Forgive me," Dorian cleared his throat. "I should go back to searching." He stood, his hands shaking.

There was a scream outside that Dorian recognized well. Nora.

He raced for the front door but something pulled taut around his neck, choking him. He gasped for a breath as he was dragged by a rope.

"Bleed him cleanly. You made a mess with his girl," Mary Beth said to Eustace adding the meat of Dorian's daughter to the pot of stew while Eustace hauled him out back to the shed like a pig to the slaughter.

* * *

_It's a surreal experience to lose your child when you are still so much a child yourself. Our people use the words "sacrifice" and "brave" like it means something sacred. My child was one year, two months, and five days old when they sacrificed him. He did not know how to be brave. He could not know what it meant. I have always rather disliked it when people say "he sacrificed so much," as if he'd devoted his life to working in the fields. As if he gave his family up._

_They sacrificed his whole future and mine right along with it. _

_Once upon a time, there was a girl with light in her eyes and she smiled and saw beauty in everything and every one. She was happy, but the good things never last and the girl, who had so much potential and so much love to give, died away, leaving only the wounded shell of the girl she used to be._

_Three years later, when I still shied from his touch, he forced himself inside of me and planted darkness there. It grew and grew until it felt like the darkness had consumed me; whoever I had been before was completely gone._

_He left her to rot inside of me._

_But somewhere in the trenches of sludge that had been dug out in my disparate soul, a light fought its way to the surface. Her goodness illuminated my womb, seeping through to the blackest reaches of my humanity until her light pervaded over the dark that had tried so hard to rot me through._

_She was born with a beautiful, radiant spirit that vanquished my despair entirely, at least for a time. She was my love, my happiness-all the very best parts of me, and I suppose of him too. _

_But every birthday filled me with dread; the oncoming of another year and another Choosing. I prayed about it. I prayed that if it would happen to us again, I would be chosen instead. What had I to contribute? 'Take me,' I thought, even weeks before the ceremony. _

_And I thought all the time with a shudder that if I had to endure it again, the grief and the trauma would drive me to madness. _

_By my own hand, if I lost her-my Sara-I would go to my grave right after. He couldn't stop me if he tried._

_Once upon a time, there was a girl who dreamed of nothing but to die. She was beautiful. And very brave. And she was tired and scared, and she wanted all the voices in her head to be quiet…_

* * *

Jane stood outside of the cemetery gates, rubbing her temples. She'd completely recovered from whatever seized her the night of the wedding, save for the splitting migraines that made her teeth ache. With a sigh, she pressed onward into the cemetery and toward the foot of Undertaker's Hill.

She wasn't sure what she expected to find, but this seemed like an ideal place to start. After all, she'd been visited by the Undertaker himself in a vision. Jane picked up the hem of her skirt and climbed her way to the top of the hill. Other than having a wider view of the cemetery, she still wasn't sure what she'd come up in search for.

A bony hand reached through the soil and grabbed on to hers in a swift, claw like motion, pulling her under until all she could taste and smell was dirt and iron.

She clawed toward the surface for air, but felt worms slide through her hair, eating away at her scalp and her skin until nothing remained. Beetles crawled their way across her face.

She was decomposing.

She tried to scream and found all she could muster was a slick muddy combination of dirt and blood. She was yanked back out and laid on the top of Undertaker's Hill coughing up the muddy combination. She lay still for a moment looking up into the night sky at the stars and it struck her as mildly peculiar, but not of a threatening concern.

With her lungs burning, she coughed and sat up, trying to see through the darkness.

"You shouldn't have come."

She turned to see him sitting behind her, his black wings spread so beautifully like a raven's. "The Undertaker," she said, but it was neither a question, nor a greeting, merely a statement of fact.

"I have been called that. I prefer Dorian."

"Am I dead?" she asked.

"No."

She could hear the scrape of something slick. A whetstone on a blade. It made her heart leap into her throat. She swallowed and made her way to her feet. "Were you a founding member of the commune?"

"Take your questions elsewhere. I don't owe you any answers." He began a trip down the hill and she wandered after him.

"Wait, please—" she called, trailing behind. "If something is going to happen to us, you have to tell me."

"_You_ have the nerve to order _me_? _You_ have the nerve to _beg me_? Do you know what your people did to me? To my daughter and my wife? I don't _got_ to tell you shit, girl."

Jane stopped and shrank. He turned away and left her heading into the night, whistling something.

Stubbornly, she called after him. "I will get an answer out of you one way or another!"

She awoke on top of Undertaker's Hill again, the sun shining through the branches overhead. She had to lay still for a while and recollect herself before she could stumble back to the dirt road, and even then, Silas had to carry her back home to sleep the vision off.

* * *

"Where are you both off to?" Georgia asked, emerging from the greenhouse as Sara and May came from the back door.

"We're going to gather leaves and twigs and whatever else we can find for harvest wreaths," Sara smiled.

"Isn't that sweet of you," Georgia remarked, wiping her muddy hands on her apron.

"It was my idea!" May added proudly.

"Well. You both stay out of trouble and be back for supper."

"We will," Sara promised as they ran off whichever way the wind was blowing.

"I like your grandma," May said after a while. "She's nice."

Sara smiled to herself a little.

"I wanna be like her one day," May added.

Sara looked to her. "Like an Elder?" May responded with an excited nod. "You'd make a good one," Sara said as they walked along. 'You couldn't hurt a fly,' she thought, weary at the idea of her own father. She knew he wasn't the type to abuse his power, but occasionally he enjoyed menacing her with it—and in those instances it was more on a spiritual level as the head of their tiny church.

"Let's look in here," May decided, running through the cemetery gates.

Sara stopped just short of them and looked up at the scraggly bramble of branches overhead like claws and then into the sea of crosses. "May, no! We're going to get in trouble." But her companion was already far from earshot. Sara sucked in a nervous breath and looked over her shoulders, expecting someone to be behind and ready to reprimand her. She started in and searched for a few moments.

"May? Come on, we shouldn't be in here. We're going to get in trouble…" Sara called, but she still got no response. "May?"

The door to a mausoleum—the only one—was slightly ajar. Sara's stomach lurched. She was not a brave kind of person. Not one to take an unnecessary risk, or leap and wait for a net to appear—she wanted to know something would be there to catch her.

And she didn't want to know what was on the other side of that mausoleum door.

"May? Are you in there? Let's go, before we get into trouble."

"Look."

Sara hesitated for a moment before she finally pushed the door aside. The stone floors were dirty and dusty with age. Leaves had blown in from the broken window ahead, and two stone tombs sat before them.

GEORGE DAVID FOSTER

PATIENCE AMELIA FOSTER

The founders of the commune, of course. But her eyes slowly wandered upward to the cross in front of the window.

Mounted on it was a headless corpse, skinned and devoid of most organs.

Sara stumbled backward, gagging before she ran away. She'd never run so fast in her life. She tripped near the gate and fell forward, but she picked herself up with haste and ran screaming down the road to anyone who might listen.

This happened to be straight into the arms of Frank Marshall who stopped her and attempted to discern what she was talking about.

"There's a body," she finally managed through her hysteria, shaking and sobbing. "The mausoleum."

"What were you doing in there?" Abraham asked.

"May went in. I told her not to and she wouldn't listen," Sara blubbered.

Abraham ran off in the direction of the cemetery without further word while Sara stood there crying in the road in Frank's grasp. "Gather your wits now, child. Go find your father. Send him and your grandmother along to the cemetery.

Sara nodded and heaved a few breaths before running off to do as she was told.

* * *

As they had with the first body, the Elders gathered in the doorway of the mausoleum. Abraham was instructed to take May away from the scene, but she seemed strangely unperturbed by its gruesome nature. Still, he heeded the instruction and led her back to the Marshall house.

"We have a problem on our hands," Abberline pressed her lips into a thin line.

"That much is obvious," Georgia rolled her eyes. "Any ideas, gentlemen?" she asked, growing quickly tired of the apparent. "I don't expect we'll find any missing among our number. Does anyone have a better idea besides another pointless headcount?"

"Perhaps it's time to start questioning people," Frank suggested.

"Where do you suppose that will get us?" Abberline asked. "We have no way of explicitly knowing or implicating anyone for these crimes."

"I suggest we question the males," Georgia interjected. This suggestion elicited a passionate response from both Hamish and Frank, but Georgia approached the specimen on the cross. "Gentlemen, if you would, for a moment, observe that the victim was skinned. Have you met a woman of this commune who has a hand this well-trained?" Georgia turned to the men, rubbing her palms together. "This murderer has experience. Experience that, if fostered in this commune, only comes from hunting and skinning an animal."

Abberline nodded with approval. "I have to agree, gentlemen."

Both the women turned to leave without further discussion.

"How is dear Eliza doing, by the way?" Abberline asked as they made their way out of the cemetery.

"Improving, I think. She seems less restless, although she's still quite tired."

Abberline shrugged. "I'm sure she's been through much more than either you or I realize."

"I must confess," Georgia sighed, "I've grown tired of her act of playing the victim. There's not a soul alive who hasn't lost someone to the Harvest. She needs to learn that her grief is nothing special or new."

Abberline turned to face her. "Georgia, I want you to listen to me because I am only going to say this once." Her face was severe. "Just because you were fortunate enough to keep all of your children does not mysteriously entitle you to a sense of superiority."

Georgia stiffened noticeably, contemplating how best to retaliate, but Abberline wouldn't let her have a word. "That innocent baby was ripped from his mother's breast before he had a chance to know beauty and real happiness. That child was the only goddamn thing your daughter had in this world. No one stopped them. No one ever stops them, they just carry on as if this beautiful, innocent creature they're taking from you is a lamb to slaughter. They turn a blind eye. And you will never know the kind of grief a mother feels. Never! So before you deign to judge your child for the way she has handled the death of the first thing to ever matter to her, you'd best be certain that you do not stick a knife through her fragile heart with your bitter words."

Abberline left Georgia in the dust to question everything she'd done, regardless of whether it had been wrong or right.

* * *

"Does it ever bother you that they all keep asking when we're going to have babies?" Lilah looked over her shoulder, smiling at him as he waited for dinner.

"All the time," Abe shook his head.

"Some days I can't tell. Either they'll let up on us or they won't, I guess," Lilah stirred a bowl of mashed potatoes one last time and carried it to the table. "At least we're away from prying eyes now."

Abe had spent the summer building their little house and it still didn't feel quite complete, but he'd called on a few favors to help, just to get him out from under his father's roof. That house was growing crowded anyway, with May and Mina, and Cain and Frank too, plus the baby that would be along in no time. It was reassuring to be out on their own, in their own space.

Lilah sat down at the table and leaned forward. "We could have them someday though. Right?"

Abe licked his spoon and thought for a moment. "I don't see why we couldn't. I mean, I'd like to be a dad someday. Just not now."

Lilah nodded. "I think it's sensible to wait anyway." She helped herself to the roast and poured a little gravy over it. "Frankly, I don't know why Mina was in such a hurry. It's not as if she doesn't have their whole lives together, and your father's house is crowded as it is."

He looked across the table at her and smiled, stuffing a forkful of roast into his mouth. "I have a confession to make," he said earnestly. "I didn't marry you because you're my best friend." He took a drink of the milk in his glass. "I married you because you cook like an angel."

Lilah laughed and threw a dish towel at him. "You're so full of it."

The next few minutes passed in relative silence.

"So…what happened in the mausoleum today?" Lilah asked.

Abe stopped and set his fork aside. He folded his arms at first and then rubbed his face with a hand. "We shouldn't talk about it."

"Was it like the others?" she looked up at him through dark lashes.

He looked up abruptly, startled. "How do you—"

"People talk, Abe. Gossip isn't a strictly outsider convention."

He took a deep breath in and pushed his plate aside, but he wouldn't talk to her about it. He wasn't at liberty to, even if she was his best friend. Too gruesome. Lilah sighed. "Well, who do you think did it then?"

With no answer, Abraham shook his head. "I don't know. But I also don't believe any one of us is the one who's done it."

"An outsider?"

"Someone is messing with us. I don't know who, but someone is."

"The reporter?"

Abe polished off his glass of milk and stood, walking to the sink with his dishes. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You're sharp as a tack, you know that?" He kissed her head, if a bit gruffly and walked out the back door to finish the roof of the greenhouse before it got too dark.

* * *

By most standards, Sara was a simple girl without very many talents and she'd always accepted that. But her one gift was seeming to know exactly what her mother needed it, when she needed it, and presently the woman looked tired and in need of a distraction.

She hadn't slept well, that much was obvious, but Sara didn't mention it. Instead she held her mother's hand and smiled. "Remember how you used to make me dolls when I was little?" she spoke softly. "Could you teach me? I wanted to practice so I can make one for Mina if the baby is a girl."

Eliza looked at her and smiled faintly back with tired eyes. "Of course. Of course I can. Go pick some wool from my basket." Sara grinned and went off without another moment's hesitation.

Georgia, too, smiled from the corner, her arms folded. "That girl of yours is not one of many gifts, but she's the only one who can get a real smile out of you."

It faded fast like a flower in the frost from there. She had chosen not to speak to her mother about anything in the last day or two. Every time she seemed to, she stuck her foot in her mouth a little. Instead she breathed out and looked at her hands.

Sara returned with two clots of wool and sat beside her. Eliza pulled the needle out of hers and started the quiet lesson of felting a little woolen doll. The novice poked herself a few times, but her mother kissed her fingers and continued to encourage her as she poked and prodded the little bunch of wool into a tiny body and a little head.

"Grandmother, look!" Sara excitedly presented the finished product with a smile. Georgia laughed and hugged her, looking at the tiny thing in her hand.

"Well look at that. God gave you talent with wool, didn't he?"

She blushed.

Something outside crackled and for a brief moment, Eliza's brow furrowed. The musky smell of smoke leeched its way into the kitchen from the screen door. Normally she'd have thought nothing of it, but a feeling—just a feeling—in the pit of her stomach, triggered her curiosity. "Is Hamish outside?" she rose and walked slowly to the screen door.

"Of course he's outside where else would he be?" Georgia waved her hand dismissively.

"Why would he start a fire?"

"Mother?" Sara asked, trying to bring her attention back around.

Eliza looked out into what was left of daylight to see him tossing things into the flames. Yet still curious, she pushed her way outside, Georgia behind her attempting to get her back in the house, but Eliza heard nothing beyond the thundering pulse in her ears. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Something that should have been done a long time ago." He heaped another pile into the flames, the fire far outreaching the pit itself.

She caught sight of the bear on top of the pile of other toys he'd just tossed in. Thoughtlessly she made a grab for it. Her knuckles burned.

He tackled her away from it. "Have you lost your mind?" he was shouting, but she was fighting back harder than she ever had.

Georgia pushed Sara back inside and closed the door, running out to break them up, but Eliza kicked him back into the flames.

At once his entire shirt was eaten alive by flames and she stood paralyzed in horror. An accident. It was an accident. He flopped hard on his back, trying to wrestle out the flames in the dead grass. It was Georgia, not Eliza, who rushed to aid him and helped him inside.

"Mother?" Eventually a small voice behind her drew her attention from the flames. "Come inside."

She shook her head, still clutching the bear.

"Your hands are burned, come inside. I'll put the salve on them."

Eliza hadn't thought of the pain and it came back to her in a stinging wave that made her nauseous. She looked through the flames and thought for a half of a moment that she had seen a handsome, dark haired boy standing on the other side of the smoke.

* * *

"Who did it?" She stepped into the barn with her jaw locked tight and eyes fierce. "I said who. Did. It?"

When no one answered, Anna grabbed May and forced her against one of the horse stalls. The animal inside of it was already restless and shaken. "Does somebody have an answer for me?"

"Put her down, for Christ's sake, I promise you it wasn't her," Cain rolled his eyes, but Anna was upon him with sudden rage.

"If you had anything to do with this…!"

Cain looked momentarily shocked, but then he chuckled. "No. Not me, sadly. Although I do wish I could claim it as my own handiwork, I mean really. Nailing the body to the cross. That was just inspired." His amusement didn't go over well. Instead, Anna turned on the five or six others standing around in the barn.

"Let me make this very clear," Anna began with a tone of steel. "When we left home, it was me Kofal put in charge and it is my head on the line now. If any of you fuck this up for me I will kill each and every one of you without thinking twice." She raised a hand and threw all of them against the nearest hard surface with a simple flick of the wrist before she stormed out into the night.

The air was crisp—cold even. She wrapped the sweater tighter around herself staring hard at the moon. Anna pressed her eyes closed, sighing heavily, and retreated back to the house.

The lack of care bothered her, especially at this stage when success was crucial. Even she could appreciate a half decent prank, but this had been sloppy to the point of utter failure. It wouldn't happen on her watch. Not again. She wouldn't tolerate it. Next time she'd kill. And Kofal wouldn't be angry, he'd be grateful, because she came so far and accomplished exactly what he'd asked of her.

Too much was at stake.

She breathed out slowly and crept quietly back into the Connors home where Abberline would be asleep.

The familiarity of the human's feelings—the ones she'd absorbed with the body of her host—made her feel drowsy and safe as she closed the door silently behind her.

Humans had such strange senses of home.

* * *

"Is he going to be alright?" she dared to ask as her mother left the room.

"He's fine," Georgia replied stiffly. "Or he will be. It'll heal, but it'll hurt." She folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe. "How are your hands?"

Eliza shrunk and looked at her hands as they sat in her lap, bandaged. "Fine," she whispered. They weren't fine. They stung so badly her fingers trembled, but she knew Hamish was hurting worse in the other room.

And worst of all: his pain was entirely her fault.

"He's going to sleep in your room alone for a while. Needs to sleep on his stomach."

Eliza nodded. "Of course."

"I've made up the bed for you in the room next to Sara's."

She looked up, instantly pale. "No."

"We're gonna get you through this yet, Eliza," Georgia dragged her toward the door.

"Please. I don't want to see it. I don't want—"

The door swung wide. The crib had been replaced with a bed, all of the toys and remnants of a lost childhood removed. It was so foreign. She was suddenly nauseated. "I can't be in here. I can't."

Georgia pulled back the blankets and stood waiting unforgivably for her. "Into bed. Please don't make a big deal of it."

Eliza shook her head. "I'm not going to do this."

"It's here or the closet, Eliza, now pick one."

Eliza reached forward and took the doorknob in hand, closing it and walking down the hall to the closet. The air inside was cooler; she wrapped her shawl around herself and rested her head against the corner.

"It's alright, mother. It's alright." The words came soft like a whisper and she could feel the breath on her ear, but she jolted, suddenly alert and looked beside her, seeing nothing in the darkness. She tried to reason with herself that she'd heard Sara outside the door, but that was impossible. Sara had gone to bed ages ago.

Eliza did not sleep.

* * *

She stared out at the vast corn field, now nothing more than dried out husks and hacked down stalks. Their homeland looked barer than other years, it seemed.

The grass had frosted over and even the mountains had an icy haze sprinkled over them like powdered sugar. She liked it just before sunrise the best, when the world was still overcast and the sun had yet to wake.

Jane stood on the porch with a mug of hot tea in her hands and her shawl hanging limp around her elbows. Behind her, the screen door creaked and squealed as if it were stretching for the day before thwunking shut again as Sam joined her. He squeezed her in his arms for a minute and kissed her head.

"Sure you'll be alright?"

"I'm sure," her voice was soft. "I'm going to rest today. Might stop by to see Eliza. She's been out of sorts since that reporter came sniffing."

"Seems that way, doesn't it? Silas said Hamish wouldn't be out today. Wonder if something's happened."

Jane shrugged. "Might be something is. Might be it isn't." She set her tea aside and wrapped him in a scarf and a warm embrace. "You be safe in the woods today, alright? I heard Michael was going out with the pack and I don't trust him with a loaded gun or a sharp knife."

"Have you met the man? Pretty sure his only weapon's going to be a filthy ale bottle."

"Still." Jane insisted, fixing the hat on his head and offering him the gloves from his pocket.

Sam took the gloves from her and headed off the front porch before turning. "Heard it's gonna snow today," he smiled at her. "First of the season."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Samuel Lancaster, ain't nobody here who can predict the weather. Go on now, and don't come back until you've shot yourself a buck." She laughed.

He took the stairs by two back up again and stole one more kiss before heading away with his brothers who'd been checking the cattle in the barn. She waited until they weren't any more than specks of dust on the dirt road, headed off with the other band of men. Some would chop trees, others would hunt game, and Jane hoped at the very least that the day would be productive. It was already disappointing to reap the corn so soon, but the evidence had to be disposed of.

Wearily, she headed back into the house to bake a pie to take with her to Eliza. As she passed through the living room, she thought she'd seen something from the periphery of her vision in the lower corner of the window. Jane stopped and stared of a moment, but nothing seemed amiss. She shrugged off the feeling and entered the dining room, where she experienced the same.

Now annoyed, she went to the window and peered out. She saw nothing, which didn't surprise her in the least at first, but she hoisted the window open to get a better look. A startled rabbit raced out of the bush from below the window and Jane rolled her eyes, laughing to herself as she forced the window closed again and finally entered the kitchen.

As she began to work the dough for a pie crust, an uncomfortable sensation deep within the pit of her stomach pulled at her. Her kneading rhythm slowed considerably. It suddenly crossed her mind that the men had left and if anything were to go amiss now, half of the entire community would be vulnerable. Hands sweating and cold, Jane pulled the drawer open beside her and groped until she found the largest knife inside of it and concealed it in her apron pocket, careful to close the drawer quietly and resume the crust.

The feeling only intensified until she felt ill and light-headed. She gripped the rolling pin in one hand and reached for the knife with the other one, turning slowly on her heel, prepared to swing and thrust as the target required. A clicking sound crackled in her ears and set an icy ripple down her spine.

The cupboard under the sink.

Jane reached for the cupboard door with the rolling pin and flipped it open. Something sprang out, foisting itself onto her chest and sending her hurling back while it attempted to scratch and claw at her face. She swung the knife and attempted to beat it away with the rolling pin.

The attack was too deliberate. Whatever this creature was, it was going for the kill. It knocked the knife mere inches from her hand. She abandoned the rolling pin, trying to keep it away. Too many women would resign themselves to death in this situation.

"Good thing I'm not one of them," she muttered to herself and although it was wrestling to slice her neck open, her fingertips found the handle of the blade and she grasped it firmly, jamming the blade swiftly into the creature's temple. Its body melted in a ripple beside her as if it were an eel. She grappled for the rolling pin and bashed its face in a few times for good measure, spraying herself with something sticky the color of black raspberries.

She dropped the rolling pin aside and scooted away from it, trying to get some idea of what it was. Its skull was entirely caved in, now a mess of dark sludge on the kitchen floor, but its body was unlike anything she'd ever seen. With waxy, gray skin and centipede-like structure, she was certain in an instant that this was what she had seen before outside the window.

Jane had to gather herself a moment before she could go out to the shed and grab an old drop cloth to cover it in. She cut it apart piece by piece (a nasty undertaking), and stuffed it into the fireplace with a bit of kerosene, striking a match and tossing it in. The fire roared and sparked unlike anything she'd seen before.

Eventually, her stained clothes followed suit too, and she scrubbed the floor clean in her underclothes before venturing into the wash room to clean herself. Her face was scratched in a few places. She wasn't entirely sure how to explain that, but perhaps a vision would do the trick. She could claim she'd fallen and woken up in broken glass from a kitchen dish…

It wouldn't stop them worrying, but it would have to do.

She stepped out of her underclothes and stepped into the shower, but every time she closed her eyes, she was confronted with the image of the monster that had tried to kill her in the kitchen.

* * *

"What do you think happened to Hamish?" Abe looked over to his brother who walked along beside him, rifle in hand.

Cain shrugged. "Bet Eliza had something to do with it," he muttered under his breath.

Silas slammed the barrel of his rifle against Cain's chest, pinning him up against a tree. "You gonna go there?" he asked, almost daring him to do it. Instead Cain offered a cocky grin.

"Relax," he held his hands upon surrender. "We all know things have been rocky for the last nineteen years." A few of the other men chuckled.

Silas was upon him instantly. He threw a few good punches, striking Cain across the jaw until he could see his lips start to bleed and Abe and Sam had to peel him off. "I would never talk about your wife or sister like that!" Silas snarled as some of the others helped Cain to his feet.

"Must run in the family," Cain fixed his jacket. "All of you have a few screws loose, don't you?"

Silas stared at him. "The hell is wrong with you, man?" his fists were still balled and ready to throw more punches. "The hell is wrong with you?!" He lurched for him, but Frank pushed himself between the two of them.

"Rifles. Give them to me. Until you can act like grown men, they're mine. You're not boys anymore." Both of them reluctantly surrendered their weapons to Frank. "Now apologize, both of you."

Cain extended a hand, the corner of his mouth slightly upturned. "No hard feelings."

Silas stared Cain in the eye and for the first time, saw something indescribably different about them. His brow knitted tight and he wordlessly shook Cain's hand, but he wasn't going to take his eye of him for even a moment.

"Holy shit…"

The attention turned to Michael Eddelburn who was gingerly gripping his flask as he stood at the mouth of a clearing. It wasn't high enough into the mountains for snow, but there was some sort of fallout here. Silas, Cain and Frank emerged from the thicket and finally they caught sight of what the man had seen.

A deliberate arrangement of female deer and baby fawns, their blood smeared in the white. In the center was the head of a ten point buck that had been severed from its body and left there.

Holy shit indeed.


	5. Episode 4: Parasite

"Holy shit."

Frank pushed his way between his sons and Silas, seeking to get a proper look at the display. The head of the buck had its eyes gouged from the sockets, the throat cut vertically so that the coarse hair was matted with blood. Surrounding it were the corpses of crows, disemboweled with their innards hanging. Encompassing the shrine were stones, all the same shape and size-unnaturally so. Frank shuddered inwardly and turned, grabbing Silas by his coat.

"Did you do this?" He grabbed for Samuel next. "Did you do this?!" The young boys and men stood around the site, dumbfounded. Of course they hadn't. He knew they hadn't. None of them were capable of this. He rubbed the scruff of his cheeks, at once tired. Frank sighed, feeling an unsettling chill that settled into his bones and took root there like an icy seed. Hamish was absent and so the duty fell to him. _You are a leader. Lead. _Frank at last looked to each and every man.

"I cannot produce an explanation for you," he told them softly. "But we will get rid of this. And when we are through, none of you are to speak of this. Understood?"

A chorus of 'Yes sirs' echoed around him. The younger boys were instructed by their fathers to take the crows and skin them and to stick the meat in leather satchels. They would tell their mothers they had practiced with slingshots that day.

But Frank walked away feeling nauseous. He had asked them to lie for once in their lives, and if anyone found out...

Oh what a disaster.

* * *

_The first and only great love of my life died three days after the elders had accepted my proposal. Most would call that tragedy, but I have learned to call it bad luck. Plain and simple. I have never been a man for complicated things._

_I scarcely remember what she looked like, but I will never forget the way she smelled. Like cedar with the barest touch of maple sweetness. Her hands were always stained with earth, but soft._

_The day she died, I was the last person she looked to. Not her mother or father. She looked at me with innocent eyes that begged to be saved, and instead I looked down. I looked down as if I'd lost a bet instead._

_I have gone over that moment in my head perhaps a dozen times, knowing I did what my elders and community expected of me, but feeling in my heart that my course of action was so deeply __**wrong.**_

_I have witnessed scores of public executions, my son's included. One might think I would take steps to erradicate these practices, but after nearly one hundred years, we're all more than a little resistant to change._

_The day I married Eliza, she was barely fifteen, and I was nearly forty. She was quiet for a long time at the reception feast and hadn't spoken a word to me since she'd been prompted to during the earlier ceremony. She didn't dance. Her smile was forced, and eventually she touched the ale it was clear she'd been avoiding. I attempted to ask her what was wrong with the hope that I might rectify the situation, but instead she turned to me, looking and sounding much older than her age, and she said, "I hate all of this. I hate it." She stopped herself, but I knew she hated me. Instead she looked out on the dancers, quiet for another moment. "I do believe you've made a mistake with me. I am still very much a child. I act like a child. Speak like a child. And yet here I sit. My childhood is over."_

_"Yes, well, all things do end eventual-"_

_"You took it from me." Her voice was soft, malice removed. It wasn't an accusation it was a fact, and I do suppose she was right. What matters is the blame, and I suppose my shoulders are broad enough to continue to bear it._

_I have taken many things from her and I could give her many apologies in return, but I don't. They could never in our wildest dreams be enough._

* * *

"I shouldn't have left you," Sam insisted, his hands cupping her face. "I knew you weren't well. That was irresponsible on my part."

She wrapped her hand around his. "You were doing exactly what you should have. I don't blame you for a minute. And I'm alright now." She offered him a gentle smile.

He fell quiet for a time, his hands in his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Is it true they're visions from God?" he asked eventually, his voice softer than a summer breeze. His eyes met hers once again.

Oh yes, the lie her mother constructed. Or, well...it wasn't a complete lie. But no one was comfortable with her gift, and perhaps that's why they'd ignored her for so long. When she passed people and greeted them warmly, they cast their gazes down, afraid. It had been that way her whole life. The pariah of the commune. Which was exactly why Sam's proposal had come as a shock.

"Yes," she said, resolutely at first. "No. Sometimes? It's difficult..."

"Difficult how?" he wrapped a warm hand around hers and squeezed gently. His eyes pleaded _'I want to understand,' _and she didn't have the heart to tell him lies.

"Do you remember when we were children, and they told us not to play in the cemetery because the Undertaker would grab us and bury us in the hill?"

A faint smile pricked at the corners of his mouth. "That's just a story. You know they just wanted to keep us in line."

"I saw him. The night of our wedding. His...his skin is dark like coal and he has wings like a raven." She shuddered. "It's an omen, Sam. He is an angel of death, and he's here to collect the souls of the departed." Her eyes were earnest. He couldn't break his gaze. "We're in danger. All of us." She shrunk in her silence, fearing what would come next. He could shut her away for lunacy. Or kill her for it. It was a delicate thing to be a woman. The more silence that filled the room, the more anxious Jane became.

Finally he spoke again. "What do we do?"

"You believe me?" she was incredulous. "Why?" she asked, suddenly skeptical.

"I know we're just getting to know each other better," he laced his fingers in with hers. "Given everything that's gone on around here lately? That seems like the most intelligent conclusion anybody's come to." He exhaled, his shoulders drooping slightly. "A marriage only works if the trust is mutual. I trust you, Jane. I don't think you'd lie to me. I wouldn't lie to you."

She felt a stab of regret at telling him she'd had a vision, but instead she tamped it down. "I would never lie to you," she reaffirmed, resolving that she would not tell him what had happened in the kitchen.

And likewise, he resolved to tell her nothing of the hunt.

"Rest now. I'll bring you tea."

* * *

Michael Eddelburn had ceased working in the fields when they decided he was useless. He was too drunk to make any productive effort, so they left him be, some hoping that maybe one day he'd be called to the slab and put out of all their miseries. He smelled bitterly of moonshine and sweat and remained largely overlooked by all, sitting on the porch of his dilapidated and unkempt house. But no matter how drunk, he wandered with a soft tread that made sighting him scare the others out of their wits.

He'd taken up drinking after he lost his wife, and ever since, he'd been a disgrace.

Sara Abbney had been ambling along with a basket when he spotted her from the crook of the tree where he sat with his bottle, wrapped in a tattered sweater.

"Where ya off to, little red?" he asked, startling her.

She turned in circles, panicked, until he slipped out of his spot and hit the ground, crumpling like a bag of laundry. He stood up, scarcely able to gain his balance and offered her the bottle in his hand, of which he'd spilled a generous amount. "I said where ya off to?"

"A-apple picking," her eyes were wide as a deer's. She was a sweet one-everyone knew it. Kind, dutiful, exemplary little Sara Abbney. "My mother asked me to go and pick some apples. I shouldn't take my time." She seemed to shrink.

He smiled at her with dirty, rotting teeth. "'Course you shouldn't. 'Course you shouldn't! Momma'll be mad if you don't come home." Sara clutched her basket and took a step back attempting to put a distance between them, but he stepped forward. "Go on, drink it. Have a drink. Go on," he ordered, thrusting the grimy bottle into her hands. Frightened, she listened, afraid to disobey an elder-even if it was Michael Eddleburn. She hesitated and then finally pressed the bottle to her lip.

The minute she swallowed, she cringed, gagging. It lit a fire in her chest and left her coughing as she dropped the bottle, spilling it. He scrambled to grab it before he lost all of it, but in the crossfire, the hem of her skirt was doused. Michael recovered himself, but stared at her a while longer.

She would have run if she hadn't been so petrified.

He reached out and touched a lock of her hair. "I had a girl like you once," he slurred, his voice soft with nostalgia. "Your age. When she died."

Sara shuddered. "What happened to her?"

"Hung herself," he said, looking up at the trees and pointing. His finger wandered all over. "One of these. She hung herself from it. She thought she was gonna be chosen. Kept her up for weeks." He drank, swaying as he finally pointed to her. "You're gonna die, girl. One day we're all gonna die. Your daddy might be in charge, but one day he's gonna be rottin' in the ground, no different than me. You're gonna be right there with him. And your momma. All of us got graves the same size, no matter how big we are in life."

He pulled the rifle from a hollow in the tree and offered that to her too. "Take it, let your Uncle Mike teach you how to shoot."

Sara paled. "I don't think I should. I have to be going now..."

"Look me in the eye, girl." He dropped the gun and took three long steps toward her, his calloused hands pressing against her temples. "You and I ain't never seen it but there's a great big world out there and it's closing in on us, gonna suffocate us all one day and there ain't nothin' can be done about it. We gotta fight for what's ours. We gotta fight for it, understand?"

"You're hurting me, please let go," she whispered, her eyes growing faintly pink with tears. "Please just let me go." His grip on her head had become so forced she was certain he was going to snap her neck. "Please..."

"Sara?" Lilah stood on her front porch, looking out. She came down the steps and walked away from the house, nearer to them. "Michael, you leave her alone or I'll tell her father myself."

Sara, grateful for a merciful angel, broke away and ran toward Lilah, who opened her arms to the girl. "Did he hurt you?" she asked. Sara shook her head and she held her for a moment, watching Michael saunter off like his boots were a few sizes too large and the ground to muddy to have a good foothold.

"Will you come pick apples with me? My mother wanted them, but I think I'd rather not go alone."

"Let me grab my basket," Lilah smiled. She stared into Sara's eyes for a moment, tucking a hair behind her ear. And for the first time in ages, she was reminded of Ellabeth. Lilah turned back to the house, folding her arms tightly around herself. She bit her lip with a lump in her throat and looked down, willing her tears away.

* * *

Eliza sat at the kitchen table feeling four years old again as she dug the insides out of a small pumpkin dug out of the garden, flopping the mush into a bowl while Georgia stood at the counter working a crust. Eliza glanced up for a moment and then back down.

"Could you hand me a knife? My hands are a mess," she asked, itching her cheek with the back of her wrist.

Georgia held hers up too, dusted with flour, but she didn't turn to the drawer. She went back to kneading.

"I don't really think that's a good idea, do you?"

That made Eliza stop.

"Excuse me?"

Georgia finally turned, wiping her hands on the cloth that hung from her apron. "I don't really think that's a good idea." She folded her arms across her chest. "You've become too unpredictable, Eliza. I don't trust you with a knife in your hand and I don't think your husband would either, so I would like you to sort through this and pick out the seeds. I'll see to the rest." Georgia removed the hollowed gourd from the table and set it aside on the counter while she returned to the crust.

Eliza remained frozen at the table. Suddenly she stood, the chair legs scraping the floor. She grabbed the towel on the table beside her and wiped her hands roughly before throwing it aside on the table as she marched for the back door. That convinced Georgia to look up again.

"Where are you going?" Georgia asked as if she'd said nothing wrong at all. "Eliza, where are you going?"

"For a walk. I need some air," Eliza snapped, shutting the door resolutely behind her. If her mother was wise, she would not follow.

She ventured a few paces around the corner of the house before she stopped and took a deep breath in. It was cold outside, but it felt good. It seemed that ages had passed since she'd been out in the open and already her head felt clearer. Eliza hugged herself, squeezing her arms to keep the warmth in them.

Hamish, she supposed, was at least moderately indulgent in sheltering her. The brunt of her protection fell to him, and she had not deceived herself. She'd made his job a difficult one. And a thankless one. And she was certain he was tired of her, tired of being blamed for something she was sometimes unsure if she even hated him for anymore.

But he never would have reduced her value as a mother and a wife and the woman in his home. Whatever went on after dark, he never made her feel ashamed in the light of day. Never spoke another word of it.

And she'd shoved him into a fire pit.

She stopped and looked out at the barren field, a migraine wedging itself firmly between her brows. She looked back toward her house, and pressed her eyes closed. Would he accept an apology if she tried to give him one?

There was one way to find out.

Eliza reentered through the front door and ascended the stairs to their bedroom. He was laying on his stomach, his back charred and exposed for God to bear witness to what she'd done. She knelt next to the bed and reached out for his hand with a gentle touch, her scarred knuckles cracking.

"Hamish, I…" her lungs felt like lead. "I'm sorry. And I know those are just words and they don't mean enough—I don't expect you to forgive me. I-I've thought—" Her mind swirled, now dizzying. "You've done more for me than I deserve and I've never thanked you for that. Never. And I see that now. You were trying to help me in the only way you could think to do it. And I'm sorry."

"Eliza, leave the man to his rest. I need you to come back downstairs for a moment."

"It can wait, mother. I need to take care of my husband."

"Go with your mother," he insisted quietly in the only words he'd spoken since she sat beside him.

Wanting to respect his wishes (not her mother's), she obeyed, but once downstairs she was confronted by Cain and Abberline. Immediately she felt embarrassed. "I didn't realize we were expecting visitors, I apologize…"

"No need, dear," Abberline said softly. "We won't be but a minute."

Eliza watched her curiously. "I'm sure Mother's already told you that now is not a good time to visit Hamish."

"We're not here for Hamish," Cain spoke softly. "We came for you."

She stood there for a moment, unsure of what exactly was happening. "I'm…sorry?"

Georgia was wringing the dishtowel in her hands absentmindedly. "You'll be staying with Abberline until Hamish recovers." Prepared to put her foot down on the matter, Eliza opened her mouth to speak but her mother promptly silenced her. "Don't argue, dear. Hamish has already agreed. Sara and I will look after him until the both of you are better."

Eliza looked back and forth between the three of them. People who had no authority in her home had seized it from her.

"Mother?" Sara had come in from the back and stood behind her now, a basket of apples in her arms. "What's going on? Is father alright?"

"He's fine," Georgia insisted. "Your mother is going to stay with Abberline for a few days." That was when they began to escort Eliza out through the front door.

And it was also when Sara came to the realization that her mother had already arrived at.

There was something wrong with their eyes.

* * *

**1918**

He could still hear her screaming, nearly dead himself, but not quite. They'd tied him up at the wrists and put him out in the drafty shed. Eustace sat there across from him, but a hazy blob. The whetstone sizzled across the edge of the machete.

"I'm a forgiving man, Dorian," he began lightly, the smell of sulfur and cigarettes looming in the air. "I can forgive a lot of things. I can forgive a boy for lettin' one of my sheep loose. I can forgive a girl for shortsightedness. I'm a forgiving man."

Shhhhhhhhzzzzt.

"I'm not gonna lie to you. I can forgive a lot of things. The Good Lord knows I can."

Shhhhhhhhzzzzt.

"I'll be honest, Dorian," the whetstone stopped. "George wanted you here. And maybe bias has escaped him, but it has not escaped me." He stood, his boots squeaking on the floorboards of the shed as he approached.

Dorian felt the flat of the machete against his cheek. "Your kind is nothin' more than a parasite. What kind of man would I be if I let an insect ruin our good crop?"

The blade sliced through one side of his face and clear through to the other. His jaw fell limply, loosened from its flesh bindings. He tried to scream but instead choked on blood.

"Would you look at that?" Eustace made soft steps to the doorway of the shed. "Your Nora looks like the prettiest kite I ever did see. Pretty little thing's caught her line on that tree though," there was the sound of a malicious smile in his voice. Dorian wriggled in a circle like a fish, as if craning to see. Eustace slammed the door closed and bolted it. "You'll be together soon enough."

And then it was quiet. Not even the sound of a boot scraping. Not the sound of his breath. Just silence. He wondered for a moment if Eustace had left. He turned as well as he could where his toes touched the floor.

THWACK!

The machete sowed itself deep under his ribs and stuck for a moment. He let out a sickened cough, gagging. Blood spattered across the walls of the shed.

His girl had died here. His beautiful Lyssa.

No one would avenge him, not even George. But he would have his revenge.

* * *

**Present**

He was sitting up for the first time in days, on the edge of the bed, as Sara came down the hall. She caught sight of his back, some spots blistering and yellow, the others patched with black and mottled red. The shock took the breath out of her lungs.

He must have heard, because he turned to look at her, covering the front of himself with the sheet and his eyes fell.

She thought momentarily of walking away. Of fetching her grandmother to do it instead. She shouldn't see a man indecent like this, even if he was her father. Instead, her hand rested on the doorframe and she studdied his injuries for a moment. "It looks infected," she said softly, taking a single step past the threshold. "May I clean it for you, father? I promise to be gentle."

He offered her a small smile, wanting to kiss her forehead then, but he didn't budge. He thought of telling her to go and fetch her grandmother's experienced hand, but his skin felt ablaze once again and Sara had shown herself gifted before in these situations. "You were always a gentle child. I suppose it can't hurt." He lay down on his stomach with his head on the pillow as she approached.

Sarah reached for the cloth in the basin and pressed it carefully. Where she expected a cringe of pain, he seemed to sigh with relief. She dipped the cloth in again and wrung it out before pressing it back against the burns. "It'll need a light scrub. You've got ash in it and dirt too, by the looks of it." She began with a delicate but firm touch that made him tense up as a layer peeled away with each swipe until she was satisfied with it and then she applied an aloe tincture and sat at his side while it dried in.

"I heard you spoke with Michael," Hamish spoke with a soft tone that she had grown to associate with his wrath. It made her cower a little. "Why?"

"I saw him in passing, I didn't want to be rude..." she trailed off, hoping it would convince him.

"You ought to have ignored him," he mumbled.

"Jesus didn't ignore people like Michael. He befriended them."

That made him smile. "You've given this some thought, haven't you?"

She looked at the floor and hesitated, thinking of the daughter Michael Eddelburn had lost and she exhaled deeply. "I think..." she started off too softly, but she met her father's eyes. "I think it's very lonely to be ignored. Everyone deserves some kindness and love, don't they?" She inched her fingers under her thighs. "I think he's made mistakes and I think he regrets a lot of things. But shouldn't we try to forgive him for them?" _He's all alone, _she thought. _He should be given support. We're his only family now. _In a way, her heart was broken for the man.

Hamish reached out, wincing, and opened his hand to her. She inched closer and put her hand in his. "I believe, my dear, that i have ignored you for far too long," his smile was faint, as if he were remembering, but it was sincere. "I am sorry for that."

Sara nodded wordlessly, savoring the moment for just a short while longer before she stood and rubbed a greasy salve onto his burns. Only when she was finished did she speak again. "When will mother be home?"

"When she's ready, dear. And not a minute before."

"Ready? I don't understand." Sarah shifted, twisting the towel in her hands and the hem of her sweater.

But he didn't explain it further.

* * *

He placed the last of the kindling against the shed, bringing a bundle inside to stoke fires. He'd be back out later for more. May was uprooting squash in the garden along with a bevy of potatoes as Mina emerged from the greenhouse with herbs. Cain smiled at her as if the two were still shy and unwed, noticing the swell of her belly beneath her sweater. Not far along. Not far behind either.

He waited for her on the steps, smiling. "I'm glad we cut that field down early. More time to spend with you." He took her basket from her and helped her up the stairs.

Mina laughed. They entered the kitchen where she set the herbs aside. "Couldn't you come to the apple trees with me today? May and I thought we'd make apple butter to put in the cellar with the rest of the store."

"Father would like that. Apple butter is his favorite. Abe's too."

"You'll come?"

"I want to, but I have to repair the barn's roof today and see to it that its insulated for the winter. All the signs seem to say it's going to be a cold one."

Her gaze fell and she seemed briefly sad. "I'm sorry. Of course you're busy, I don't know what came over me. I just…wanted to spend time with you, that's all." Her blue eyes gazed up at him through dark lashes.

He sighed pitiably and approached, tucking her hair behind her ears. Cain kissed her head and hugged her close for a moment. "Pretty soon the snow will fall and you and I will spend so much time together we'll get sick of each other."

Mina smiled to herself as Cain pressed his forehead to hers. His hands felt warm as they found their gentle way to her belly. "And soon we'll have a baby and you won't have time for me anymore." That made her laugh.

"I'll always make time for you," she insisted, her hands on his.

But the smile fell from her face and she went pale. "Cain. Something's wrong. I don't feel well…" she wavered for a moment, and then grabbed his shoulder suddenly, drawing a sharp breath in. "Something's wrong. Something's wrong with the baby." She heaved a desperate breath and cried out as a pain wedged itself into her womb and stayed put.

Cain held her steady and pulled out a chair. "May! Go find somebody, there's a problem with the baby," He turned back to Mina and squeezed her hand. "It's gonna be alright, sweetheart. It's gonna be alright. Just relax."

The next hours were a mess of screams, sobbing and blood from the bedroom. The baby was coming early—too early. Jane and Lilah were in the room with Abberline trying to console her, but it seemed the hysteria was punctuated by only mere seconds of calm.

Cain paced in the hall with Abe sitting nearby, waiting for a miracle.

The grandfather clock ticked and eventually chimed eleven times. It had quieted in the last ten minutes—unsettlingly so. Abberline finally emerged with a bundle of cloth, but she didn't acknowledge either of the men at first. Finally she shook her head and walked off with the bundle and no further word.

He was on his feet instantly and rushed into the bedroom, failing to acknowledge anything but his clearly tired and distraught wife. "What happened?"

"Stillborn," Lilah said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It wasn't human. Cain it wasn't…" Mina gasped for a breath and drew a shaking sob. "Why? Why did it happen to me?"

Jane, who was sitting quietly in the corner finally looked up. "It's an omen."

Cain shot her a glare, turning back to Mina as he stroked her hair, apologizing and wanting to weep.

Lilah and Jane dismissed themselves afraid to speak of what they'd truly seen. A centipede-like creature with too many tiny limbs and a head that had already grown razor-like teeth.

Best to say nothing. No need to rock a shaky boat.

* * *

It felt strange to sleep in a house that was not hers, in a bed she had never slept in, but there were no straps on the bed and she felt grateful for that if nothing else.

Still, the house made different noises and she was disconcerted by it. She would have felt more comfortable at her mother's or Jane's. But she felt tense for other reasons too.  
Their eyes. There had been something wrong with their eyes.

She sat on the edge of the bed, dragging her fingers through the soft, blonde waves of her hair, her brow knitted. She couldn't sleep here and that would make it all the worse when morning came. Quietly, she peered out into the dark hallway, wondering if it would be rude at all to fix herself a mug of tea. Something to soothe the nerves, that was all she needed.

Eliza moved with tender steps, careful not to misplace her foot on a floorboard that might squeal with resistance. She was halfway to the stairs when she heard something at the far end of the hall.

She wasn't entirely sure what she'd been expecting to see, but an empty hallway wasn't it, and beyond that the silence was deafening. No wind outside, no familiar coughs or sighs from either of the bedrooms. She stifled her breaths, afraid that they were perhaps too loud. She looked back toward the stairs, second-guessing herself now. 'Go back to bed,' she said to herself and turned to see Anna at the end of the hall.

Anna stood there, staring in the dark, but Eliza couldn't see her eyes or make out any of her features. What did she say? "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, I couldn't sleep…" she whispered, taking a half-step forward, but Anna still didn't move. "I'll be going to bed now."

Anna lurched from the darkness, her mouth a series of splinters where teeth should be and a waxy sheen on her skin. There was no trace of Anna besides the shock of red hair braided over her shoulder and the rough physical likeness of her. Eliza ran for the stairs and stumbled down them, her ankle twisting painfully near the bottom.

The doors would be locked and so her only option was the bathroom.

She threw the door closed and fumbled with the lock, searching for something to block it with but there was nothing.

BANG!

Eliza backed up toward the shower.

BANG!

She sunk into the tub, whispering a prayer and begging it to stop.

BANG!

No girl could be so strong.

BANG!

She could hear it faintly as the wood began to splinter.


	6. Episode 5: The Harvest

**1930**

_**'**__They made a mistake teaching their girls to think independently,'_ Edith thought. She held Cora's hand on her left, Agatha's on her right. Thirteen of them, joined hand in hand as they walked out into the woods in a sweeping line, their steps matched. Dressed in their nightgowns, each one had snuck from their beds before their mothers and fathers woke, which wouldn't be long from now.

The air was crisp and it blew through her nightdress, chilling the breasts that had only started to bloom. _'If I had never learned to read,' _thought Edith, _'perhaps it would be different.' _

Sacrifices had to be made. It was implicitly stated in the commune's founding text.

They reached the thick of the woods, and each girl dropped hands, spreading out and climbing the trees. Edith watched them, feeling sad and angry all at once. _'They drove us to this,' _she reminded herself, trying to cleanse the guilt. She looked through the trees and counted them carefully.

Cora. Agatha. Daisy Mae. Kate. Addy. Dolores. Laura. Gertie. Jenna. Beth. Mary. Catherine.

And Edith.

"This is the only way," her voice faltered. "I'm sorry," Edith looked at the ground. Twelve pairs of eyes watched her. Twelve young pairs. They were all between ten and fourteen, Edith merely thirteen. Forever thirteen. Forever ten, eleven, twelve.

Laura, the oldest, stood by the idea as soon as Edith brought it up to her. It was Laura who had taken the ropes from the stable, and Laura who'd spent hours into the night tying them perfectly. And now each girl slipped hers around her neck. Edith looked down at her feet and then up at each of them. She sniffed and wiped a tear away before turning to her own tree and climbing up to the first branch.

"I have loved each one of you like sisters, and I die grateful to be with the ones I loved the most." She slipped the noose over her neck. She looked behind her and met Laura's eyes one last time before Laura let herself drop off of the branch where she sat. Her neck broke with a sickening crack.

What followed was a succession of the same until only Edith was left.

She looked at them all like chimes swinging in the breeze of a spring on the cusp of being, and then she looked back to the little houses that now seemed so far away.

She would teach them a thing or two about sacrifices.

The search party didn't have to look far or for long before they found them there like rag dolls swaying on lines, lips and fingertips blue, and skin already stiff and gray. Some had their eyes open, frozen like glass and lifeless, while others looked like sleeping angels. Their fathers saw them and their mothers saw them, and brothers and younger sisters. Rightly, the unspoken conscensus was that things would never again be the same.

That's when the elders decided a girl in possession of some knowledge, and independent will, and a clever mind was a thing to be feared indeed.

* * *

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

When had the banging stopped? She hadn't slept for even a moment and her eyes were aching from being pressed together for so long, but she looked up at seeing the light of day as it came through the small bathroom window. Shaking and sweaty, her eyes wandered, staring at the door. Perhaps she really had fallen asleep. It made more sense to believe she was dreaming, but the doorknob rattled and she went into a panic all over again.

There was a series of squeaks before the door came away from its frame. She hid her face between her knees, unaware at first that she was hoarse and screaming again. Something touched her and she fought back kicking and screaming but it wouldn't let go.

"Eliza. _ELIZA!_" Silas was holding her arms and trying to shake some sense into her, and behind him a number of people she was only half aware of.

Her eyes darted over her surroundings as if she were realizing the absurdity of the situation.

"It's okay. I've got you," he hugged her and at first she drew heaving breaths trying to recover from the shock but then she clung to him afraid to let him go. "It's okay now. Everything's gonna be okay." Her sobs crashed through him like waves.

Behind him, Abberline covered her mouth somewhere between shock and pity. Georgia pressed her eyes closed begging God's mercy, and behind the both of them stood Anna, faintly smiling with a vague air of confidence.

Even if she _did _talk, no one would believe her. Maybe they'd even lynch her for madness and squish it out. In any case, she wasn't fit for snatching. Too unstable. But Abberline touched her shoulder and Anna found herself writing on the slate again, annoyed that her cover must include silence. _Thank goodness she's alright. _

Eventually, Silas was able to coax Eliza from the bathroom, shrouding her in a blanket and all but smuggling her back home where someone would have to decide what to do with her next.

"I don't know what happened, Georgia. I truly don't," Abberline insisted while the sound of chalk on slate scraped beside them as Anna wrote.

"It isn't your fault," Georgia insisted, waving her hand. "I don't know what's come over her lately, but I'll find a way to fix it."

"But how?"

"I'll find a way."

Anna handed over the slate, the scrawl of her delicate cursive spelling it out. _I heard her cry out last night and when I came to see what was the matter, she was running downstairs. She shut herself in the bathroom. I was afraid she'd hurt herself._

Georgia looked up carefully at Anna as if she weren't entirely sure she believed her at first, and then turned to leave.

* * *

Sara reached into the chicken coop careful not to disrupt the chickens as she took the eggs from beneath them. She even stroked a few with her finger and told them in a hushed whisper that they were good, thanking them for the eggs they produced.

When her basket was full, she reemerged in the crisp autumn, closing and securing the door behind her. A hand reached out for the handle of her basket, but didn't take it from her. She looked up to see a boy her own age, smiling at her. She knew his name was Caleb and that was relatively it.

"That looks heavy. Can I help?"

She smiled too and blushed a little, hesitating before she offered it to him. "Thank you." She would have managed if he hadn't come along, but she'd let him carry it a while if he wanted. "Your name is Caleb, isn't it?"

"It is, yes. And yours is Sara."

A blush of embarrassment snuck its way into her cheeks. She stole a glance at him and the quickly cast her eyes down again.

"The difference between us though is that you probably have more important things to concern yourself with besides names," he looked at the ground, laughing at himself, but her gaze shot up and she slowed a little.

"I don't. I swear," she blurted a little awkwardly. "I mean...I sometimes do, but," she drew a nervous breath and felt herself smiling a little. "But it doesn't mean I shouldn't know who you are. I'm sorry."

Caleb shrugged, slowing his stride just a little as if he wanted to drag their stroll out for longer than necessary. "Me? I'm no one important."

"Everybody's somebody," she said with more sincerity and less thought than she ought to have considered the words with. "And anyway, everyone here is important. Like right now for instance. You're carrying my basket and that's considerate of you. Considerate people are important because they put others' needs before their own." Wasn't that what their fathers preached? Putting the needs of others before one's own.

She heard the back door to her house open and close and it drew her attention. "I'd better go," she spoke softly, taking her basket back. "Thank you. I'm sure I'll see you again." And without hearing another word from him, she headed inside.

Sara arrived in time to see her uncle and grandmother escorting her mother up the stairs, but she stopped them. "Mother? Mother!" she threw her arms wide and hugged the woman tight, sighing with relief. _'You're alright,' _she thought, nearly overcome. "What's happened to you? You look so pale and feverish..." as her mother had done to her so many times, Sara reached to touch Eliza's forehead with the back of her hand. Not warm, but cold and clammy. No fever-another thing to find relief in. She dragged her to the table where she pulled out a chair. "I'll make you tea."

"Thank you dear, that's very sweet, but your mother needs to rest, she's-"

"Going to be much better after a cup of tea. I can handle it," Sara offered a smile, lifting the kettle onto the stove and stoking the coals beneath it. "Why don't you both go home? I can watch her until after lunch." Georgia was going to speak up, but Silas did instead.

"That sounds good. We'll check back with you then," he smiled at her, ushering his mother out. Georgia stole one last glance at them before Silas closed the door.

Sara watched them intently until they were out of sight and then she turned to her mother. "What did you see?" She pressed Eliza's chilly fingertips between her hands, squeezing. "I know you saw something, what was it? Please."

Eliza stared at her, wild-eyed for a minute, but she shook her head. "We shouldn't speak of it," she whispered.

"You saw it. The creature. I've seen it too."

Little puffs of steam chugged from the spout of the kettle on the stove, hissing lightly.

"It was there that night. In the greenhouse. It tried to kill me," Sara's throat ran dry. "It tried to kill you too, didn't it, mother?"

Eliza's eyes flitted to the stairs, as if she feared being overheard.

"It did. I know it did."

A low whistle sounded from the kettle now.

"Please. Nod. Say something. I have to know."

The whistle's pitch went up. Eliza looked down into her lap and nodded. The kettle gave a screech and Sara stood to move it away from the burner. She poured the tea into two mugs and set one in front of her mother before she took out the pot of peppermint tea leaves. "We're safe now," Sara assured her, squeezing Eliza's hand again as she placed mesh balls into their cups.

"Not for long," Eliza whispered.

* * *

"Michael?" she knocked three slow times on his front door and checked behind her, hefting her basket a little higher. Of course the street on this end would be deserted.

He lived alone, behind a shade of trees. His barn had burnt down when Sara was just a small child. They planted trees in its place.

She gave a more deliberate knock, but he still didn't answer. "Michael, it's Sara...Sara Abbney? I've brought you some things." Her stomach was slowly turning to ice. "Michael?" She tested the doorknob and found it locked. What kind of madman locked his own front door? Then her fingers found the house key in the pocket of her sweater. Not often used, but she figured it was safer to put her mother to sleep, sneak away and lock the door behind her. Her thumb pushed into its toothy ridges.

Angry, she turned away, knowing she couldn't wait forever for him, and it was wiser to go back home, pull the shades, and ignore her grandmother when she came around later. She hefted her basket back into the crook of her arm and set off past the first step before she heard the door creak open behind her. Sara turned, feeling her fear creep upward in her chest.

"Get inside, but be quick about it."

Sara glanced over her shoulder again, wishing someone would be behind her to witness it as she went inside, but there was no one. She stepped forward into the house.

It was dark and smelled damp and dusty. She tried to step carefully around things on the floor-a broken or dirty dish here, a pile of dirty clothes and rags there. A rat squeaked and ran from an apple core, making Sara leap back against a wall as they made their way into the kitchen.

"What are you here for?" he asked, his back turned as he rifled through mostly empty bottles and finally found the one he was looking for. He popped the cork off and took a greedy drink.

"I-I...I want you to teach me." She felt small and out of place.

"Ain't the teachin' type, kid. What are you really here for?"

She hesitated. "Before. You tried to hand me your rifle to teach me how to shoot. I want you to teach me."

Michael turned slowly and stared at her as if he were expecting her to laugh. As if she had some ulterior motive. But the paranoid glimmer in his eye changed slightly. "You've seen them. Haven't you?" he asked, his voice a hushed whisper.

Sara felt the warmth pull away from her skin as a chill shot up her spine. She nodded slowly. "My mother too."

"Well I'll be damned..."

"Please. I need to do something. I can't-" Couldn't what? She drew a shaking breath. "I have to protect them. I have to protect _her. _I don't know what else to do." Her eyes stung a little with frightened tears. They already believed her mother to be half mad and there was no telling what might happen if Eliza tried to warn them. They might hang her for madness. It had happened before... "I have to keep her safe."

"Leave that to your father, girl." He turned away from her.

"No." She felt the word turn unexpectedly to steel in her throat.

Michael stiffened. "What do you mean no?"

Frustrated, she set the basket on the table with more force than she'd ever used. "I came here to ask for your help. You want to refuse me that? Fine. I'll be back to ask again tomorrow. And the day after that. And every day until you do."

"Why's it so important to you anyway, huh?" Michael asked. "You're just a scared little girl, always running back to hide behind momma's skirts." He spat on the floor. "You wanna protect your family? You go home, you lock the door, and you stay in."

"That's not good enough for me."

They stared each other down for a minute. "They could kill me for teaching you shit like that. If we're caught. And you too."

"I'm willing to take that risk," Sara felt her courage mounting.

"I'm not until you give me a good goddamn reason why I should take it with you."

Sara inhaled deeply, her eyes never once averting his. "This community is my home. The people in it are my family. Every single one of them. They may not listen to the truth, but that doesn't mean it isn't real." Her hands balled into fists. "Somebody's got to protect them."

He stared at her for a long moment, unsure if she'd gone mad. His girl-his Greta-she would have had the same fire in her eyes that Sara had now if they'd been in the same place. He sighed. "Be here tomorrow morning. Come to the back door and knock five times." He demonstrated on the table. Michael rubbed his dirty, sweating brow. "Christ alive. What if they ask questions?" he asked, suddenly sobered at the thought.

Sara fell quiet and looked at the table before she piled up a stack of dishes and toted them to the sink. She turned the faucet on and let the water fill the sink before taking a rag that looked clean enough and dipping it into the water. "Then we tell them I'm here to help you."

* * *

As the sun had begun its descent, Sara convinced him to walk her home, even if he'd had too much to drink. His kitchen was spotless, and she'd spent more time there than she planned, but Michael hadn't said much to her anyway. He seemed lost in his thoughts.

"What was her name?" Sara asked.

Michael sighed. He elected not to hide it from her, she'd learn in time anyway. "Greta." He sounded weary at the memory of her. "Her name was Greta Alice. After my mother and Martha's." _'You remind me of her, a little,' _he thought with some twinge of sadness.

They walked a few more paces until Sara could see the bright auburn flame of Lilah's hair as she ran up the road to meet them. "Where have you been? Everyone's been looking for you. Your grandmother said she couldn't get into the house."

"I..."

"She was helping me," Michael answered with a kind of smooth, effortlessness that surprised Sara. "I'm afraid I've never been very good at keeping house and out of the goodness of her heart, she sought me out. Dear child." He patted Sara's head awkwardly as though she were a hunting dog to be praised.

"Never you mind," Lilah scowled at him. "Come with me. We should get you home."

"Really, I'm fine," Sara insisted. Her eyes wandered from Lilah's to the field behind her and her brow furrowed. "What are those?" She pushed past the two of them until her slow paces turned into a brisk walk. She stopped dead in her tracks without going any further than fifty yards. There was no need-the picture was clear enough.

Three bodies, headless and mounted like pink scarecrows for the world to see. The flesh was gone and the entrails hung like chains.

Lilah and Michael were not far behind, and there were some who emerged from their homes to look at the ghastly sight, while mothers screamed at their children to come inside at once.

_'Mother,' _Sara thought with a shudder and ran back for her house without stopping once to catch her breath.

* * *

The mob arrived in the gloaming and they were clearly looking to crucify someone.

Sara had hatched every window and closed the drapes, locked every door. She shut her grandmother out without much explanation, but she closed and locked the door, ignoring Georgia's protests to be let in.

"Sara, what's going on?" Eliza asked from the top stair as she secured the bathroom window and closed the door behind her.

"Nothing, mother. Why don't you go and rest," Sara insisted, rushing up the stairs to her. "Or perhaps we could felt some wool together. Something relaxing."

That was precisely when the shouting started, although from indoors, it was an unintelligible mess of a din.

"What is that?" Eliza asked again, shrinking back into Sara's room where she'd been sleeping. Hamish appeared in the doorway of their bedroom, a cotton shirt buttoned and hanging loosely around his shoulders. It looked uncomfortably uncharacteristic of him to Sara, Out of place. He always looked put together, but his white hair was thin and dissheveled. He slowly and wordlessly made his way downstairs with Sara and Eliza not far behind. The shouting was louder down there, and more unsettling.

"Why are they doing this?" Sara wondered.

Hamish started for the door, but Sara reached out and gently caught his wrist. "Father please, don't-"

A shattering came from the front window and suddenly the rug on the floor was engulfed in flames. Acting quickly, Sara ran forward and tore one of the curtains from the valance, tossing it over the spot and stamping down on it firmly. "Why are they doing this?" she let her own, angry shout mingle with the others before she looked to her mother sitting on the lowest stair, hugging her knees.

Sara softened immediately and went to her side, wiggling her way under one of Eliza's arms as she had done so many times in childhood. Hamish continued to stand in the same spot, although whether that was from shock or because he was calculating his next move wasn't entirely clear. Finally he spoke again, glancing at them over his shoulder. "I want you to take your mother upstairs to your bedroom. Keep the curtains closed and shut the door."

Sara nodded, feeling at present that it was best to follow his orders. She watched her mother take to the first few, following behind.

"And Sara."

She paused.

"Pray."

Sara nodded and hurried up into her room while Hamish went to the front door. He stood in the ingress only a moment before they were on the porch, ready to attack. Someone grabbed for his throat, a woman scratched him across the face, and another person's elbow connected with his ribs, knocking the wind out of him as he crumpled to the floor, his back stinging painfully where the burns had yet to heal.

Somewhere in all of this, he heard someone behind him and for a moment things halted. His ears rang as he tried to look up.

"I SAID GET OUT OF OUR HOUSE!"

There was silence and people stared before Morris Fletcher laughed. "Why don't you put that thing down, sweetheart? Before you hurt yourself."

Hamish's eyes wandered somewhere back within the house and he saw Sara standing there with a hunting rife. His.

"Get out, or I'll shoot," she threatened.

"You don't even know how, girl. And if you did, you'd probably miss."

She walked slowly forward until the double barrell was aimed hardly a foot from Morris' chest. Then she very calmly asked "Do you want to take that chance?" He heard her prepare the shot before they backed away and she closed the door, locking it before she helped him up and onto the sofa. "Are you hurt, father?"

"Get it off, get it-" his fingers trembled as he worked with the buttons on his shirt. She helped with a few and encouraged him to lay down on his stomach if he could, but it seemed he couldn't.

"Wait here, I'll be back." There were still shouts from outside but they seemed so much less threatening in nature than before. Sarah returned with a small wooden crate of salves, bottles and the like and set to work. "You'll want poppy milk to help you sleep tonight," she said when he was patched up. "I'll get Sam or Silas to come board the window until it can be fixed."

Hamish squeezed her shoulder. "I don't know when it happened, but you appear to have some fight in you," he laughed a little.

Sara smiled. "Some things are worth fighting for."

* * *

**TEN YEARS EARLIER**

Silas laid in bed, coughing as though he couldn't get something to come up. Georgia placed a hand behind his head, lifting a glass to his lips as he took a sip. "When I die, I want you to take my place," he put a hand on hers.

"We don't have to talk about that now. You're going to be fine, just fine," Georgia shook her head and tried to laugh it off.

"We do," he said with enough force to tell her to be quiet and listen. "When the time comes, I want you to have it."

"But your son-" he silenced her again.

"Is a young man with much to learn. I hope one day he'll become an Elder after you, but until then, I want it to be yours."

Georgia looked at him for a moment before she averted his gaze and fixed the afgan around his feet. "You should rest."

"Georgia, I need to talk about it, damn it." He sputtered again, and she helped him with his water. The two of them were a song and dance of habit. For many years now, she'd laid his clothes for the next morning out on the chair, careful to make sure every piece was there looking respectable, and he, to his credit, had placed logs in the stove so she could fix breakfast while he readied himself for the morning's work. They made life easier for each other without having to ask anything. It had always been that way.

"Talk then," she urged him, moving from the edge of the bed and into her chair with her knitting so she could pretend to listen. It was less to do with wanting to hear what he had to say and more to do with owning up to the truth of what it meant.

She did not for a minute delude herself into believing she was not fortunate. Her parents had survived to old age, her three older sisters and her younger brother. Her children had grown to adulthood. She'd been so very fortunate not to ever have to lose someone due to anything but the passing of time, and she would be a fool if she said she didn't know it. A fool and a liar. She had lost friends of course, and neighbors, it wasn't that she hadn't. But that was the kind of grief that passed.

This was the kind that turned to ice in her stomach and made her question how her life might go on.

"You're not listening." He wasn't angry.

She stopped knitting and sat like a statue staring at the yarn in her lap.

"You don't have to be afraid," Silas' voice was weak, but warm. "Please don't be afraid."

"H-how can you ask me...not to be?" She was breathless, the age in her cheeks turning rose.

"Because I'm not."

A breath trembled from her lips and they sat in still silence before she set the knitting aside and climbed intto bed beside him. "You won't be alone. You'll have Junior and the girls. Janie won't leave you alone, not even when she's married."

"Eliza..."

"Don't you worry about her, George. You don't give her enough credit." He seemed to be growing more tired and breathless by the minute.

Georgia turned to look over her shoulder and chuckled at him. "You give her too much. I never did have a prayer with that one."

"She turned out beautifully," Silas insisted.

Georgia sighed. "Well if you're gone, who's gonna take care of me?"

Years and entire lifetimes would come and go, but Georgia would secretly remember that it was then that she felt the warmth from him pass through her. It was that moment that aged her ten years and put the ache in her bones. She never felt young again after that, or loved in quite the same way.

The day of the funeral, she refused to be anything but stoic. She wouldn't let them see her falling to pieces-that was private and reserved solely for the empty side of the bed where her husband belonged. Her words of gratitude were stiff as she thanked people for their condolences, but she wasn't grateful, she was angry.

After the burial, people came and went from the house all day, attempting to pay their respects, but the more people that showed up with pies and baskets of bread and hot food, the more she felt her skin crawling. Halfway through the entire charade, she closed the door and shut the curtains. It didn't stop people from knocking, but she ignored them, sitting perfectly still at the kitchen table with a cup of tea gone cold before her.

Her son found her there, quiet as stone and he sat across from her. She wouldn't look at him. Too much of his father in his face.

"Mother," he placed a warm hand over hers. "It's going to be alright."

She wavered a bit, a deflated sigh finding its way out from the resolve she was trying so hard to uphold. "God...God didn't answer my prayers," she moistened her lip, but her mouth ran dry. He squeezed her hand a little harder. She rested her forehead in her free hand and allowed herself, for perhaps the first time since childhood, to be vulnerable.

* * *

If he could say anything, Abraham knew it was that things had gotten vastly out of hand. Not only had the rioters attempted to set the Abbneys' house on fire, but a child had been trampled to death. Abberline's greenhouse had had all of its windows shattered with rocks, Georgia's house-so pristine, white, and beautifully kept, had been defaced with red paint, its windows jabbed through with pitchforks.

Lilah sat with Mina and May upstairs while he and his father kept a vigilant watch at either entrance, rifles on their knees. Cain was in the barn, protecting livestock. Thus far, nothing had happened to the Marshall house, but it was only a matter of time.

"What do you think they'll try?" Abe asked after an hour of complete silence had gone by.

"Pray they don't burn the barn with your brother and the stock inside," Frank said coldly.

Abe sighed and fell silent again, unsure of how to follow that. There had never been anything like this at all. They told the story of course, of Dorian the Undertaker, who was a cannibal and ate children before sticking their bones in Undertaker's Hill, but that was an old wives tale to teach children to obey... Surely it was just a legend.

The house was so still that Abe found it unnerving. He wished for the sounds of Lilah busying herself in the kitchen, wished for the sound of May telling stories. Anything to distract them from the painful reality of the situation. The chaos and disorder was all too terrifying. It had never been like this before, where nobody upheld the law and order that had been carried out for centuries.

"What do we do when it's over?" Abe finally asked.

Frank took his time with an answer. "Prosecute. Excommunicate, execute. Whatever we must."

Abe felt chilled by the severity in his father's tone. Still, he braced himself, waiting for an attack. Things had gone so wrong, but when? How many bodies were out there, skinned and headless, and unfound? What attacked them in the first place?

"Permission to check on the women, father?" he asked, needing at least to be nearer to the best friend who had always given him some measure of comfort. He looked over his shoulder in wait of an answer, but he was met with a simple nod.

Abe climbed the stairs he had known so well as a boy and made his way down the hall to his sister's room where he hoped to find her sleeping with Lilah keeping watch. He poked his head into his brother's room and found Mina asleep in the dark, curtains open wide. He entered quietly and peered out the window, down at the barn below where he could see Cain looking back up at him. He waved and gave a simple nod of assurance. _'Your wife is safe,' _he thought, and pulled the curtain closed, before moving soundlessly out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Ever onward, he moved to the end of the hall where the door was surprisingly shut, the light under the crack dim. He knocked, trying to maintain some degree of politeness, lest his sister or wife be changing, but he received no answer. "Lilah? Are you awake?" he asked, keeping his voice soft as he turned the knob and pushed it open.

Her hand was bloody as she reached out for him, a rasping gasp and a cough sending blood spraying across the quilt she gripped desperately. Her face and chest were badly scratched and blood soaked her nightgown. Something from under the bed grabbed her foot and he had to fight to get her into his arms, but he carried her swiftly back into the hall and down the stairs, never once turning to look back.

"FATHER!" he shouted, hurrying down the stairs. "Something is up there. In May's room. It hurt Lilah," he shoved things off the kitchen table and laid her down to assess her injuries. She was sputtering, her lips tinged orange-red from the blood that was slick on them. She'd been stabbed in the throat. He clamped a hand over it, but it didn't stop the blood from oozing between his fingers as she writhed in shock. "Lilah, stay with me... Lilah!" She was shivering.

"It's too late, son," his father's voice came to him through the sounding alarm in his mind.

He turned to face his father,

"Hold still. This'll only hurt for a minute."


	7. Episode 6: No Good Deed

The wind blew rough across the barren landscape, all the trees in the mountains divorced of their leaves. The clouds rolled in, strangely dark. Lilah pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and fixed the wool coif on her head as another gust blew up from the hills.

She hauled the bucket in a mitten clad hand toward the barn; a new farrow of piglets had been born in the night, and the sow would no doubt be hungry.

In passing a woman waved and called her name, she stopped and smiled. "Good morning, Mrs. Penderghast. How are you?" she made polite conversation, smiled still. The woman approached. Mina's sister-in-law.

"I'm well, how sweet of you to ask." She looked skyward. "Snow's coming."

Lilah looked up, too, the chilly wind biting at her cheeks. "Yes, I suppose it is. I think we'll be ready; Abe is mending the greenhouse after that awful riot... The plants are inside for now, I just hope they won't suffer too much for it."

"It's a shame what happened to your mother's," Mrs. Penderghast nodded. "Shame she doesn't have anyone around to fix it, niether."

"I believe Silas agreed to help her. There's talk that he and Anna will soon be married."

"A winter wedding, how lovely." She paused. "I'm terribly sorry to have interrupted you. You're clearly in the middle of a chore, aren't you?"

"Just feeding our sow. She birthed a good litter last night. Would you like to come and see?" Lilah opened the barn door, allowing room for her to step inside. Mrs. Penderghast, after a moment's hesitation, proved tenderhearted as anticipated and stepped into the barn.

Lilah closed and locked it behind them.

* * *

Anna waited in the barn for Cain as planned and then he got there, she nearly strangled him with a rope. "A riot? Are you shitting me-a fucking _riot_?!"

"It wasn't me," he struggled to get free, deliberately pulling her leg out from beneath her with his foot. Instead, she dragged him down with her, but she broke his fall and that was enough leverage to scramble back to his feet a short distance away. "You know I enjoy the mayhem, but I can't take credit for this either. Do we have a total yet?"

"At least half. The first phase-infiltration-is going according to plan. We're going to proceed with the next soon. But I don't have to elucidate my plans for you." She stared him down with a gaze that spat fire hotter than the red of her hair. "You want to make yourself useful, then fine. You can ferret out the source. Bring them to me, and I might let you decide what we'll do with them."

He smiled a little at that. If she was congratulating herself on that minor victory, she didn't show it. "Fine," he said. "What do the higher-ups think of your sloppy leadership, I wonder? Serves them right, I suppose, for putting a woman in charge."

She struck him without giving it a passing thought. "Do not question my authority." Her voice was calm and clear as crystal glass. "And the next time you do, I won't be so forgiving."

He massaged his jaw with a cocky grin as she walked off. He had work to do.

* * *

The sound of a hammer echoed through the house and made Eliza flinch at every turn. Jane reached out for her hand and held it tightly, trying to put her at ease, but it seemed to do so little. Sara watched the tiny gesture but then looked back into her mug of tea, now cold. She supposed she was jealous of her mother for having siblings. Or, well, she did have a brother. Had.

Eliza fidgeted.

"Thank you again," Sara spoke at last, looking up at Jane. "It was nice of you and Sam to come by."

Jane smiled. "Of course. Our house didn't suffer much, although I'm certain it was my fault. The Elder houses all seemed to have it worse. Despicable, really. Depraved."

Once again, Sara allowed the blanket of silence to wrap itself around them. The handful that had rioted were being aprehended and kept in a rotting barn like cattle until the elders could decide what to do with them. Her father had left for deliberation that morning, even after she insisted he stay back. She looked at her mother and then to Jane again. "What will they do? To...to the...?"

Jane sighed deeply, pressed her eyes closed. "It won't be good. I expect the ones with minor involvement will be excommunicated. Higher offenders will probably face death."

"Why do we do it?" Eliza muttered. Her sister and daughter looked at her, confused. "We teach our children that to be a member of this community is a privilege more divine than any in the outside world and strike the fear in them that if they leave us they will be killed. Why do we do the killings? There's so much death. So much blood." Her face turned rose and crumpled. Sara took her other hand and gave her arm a squeeze, but her eyes became cloudy and vacant, some dark and terrible memory etched in the lines of her face. "So much blood," she repeated.

It was Jane who stood and hugged her tight. "Shh, don't fuss. None of that. It's alright."

Sara shrank back in her seat and eventually stood, wandering into the living room where Sam and Silas were boarding the windows. "Thank you both for this. I think it will give her some peace of mind."

"Happy to help," Sam smiled at her as he lifted another board.

Sara sat watching as Silas held the boards in place and Sam took the hammer and nails. Crack. Crack. Crack. And like that, the corner of the living room went dark. She turned back toward the kitchen before Silas turned and touched her wrist.

"I heard what you did."

She swallowed, her hands feeling cold.

"That was pretty brave of you." A smile.

Shyly, she nodded, but turned away from her uncle, the blood pounding in her ears. How many other people had seen? How many knew? And how was she lucky enough not to be in any trouble for pointing a gun at Morris Fletcher's heart?

"We'll be going now," Sam peered into the kitchen with a friendly smile.

"I'm going to stay here a while longer, if that's alright," Jane stood, meeting him in the kitchen doorway to place a kiss on his cheek. "I promise to have supper waiting on you when you get home."

Sara averted her eyes and briefly thought of Caleb. Of his hand on hers when he took the basket of eggs. She wondered vaguely if he was after something from her the same way Sam had been after Jane. She was old enough to be married now, but the thought made her shiver. Her mother had been married at fifteen-Sara had no desire to follow in her mother's footsteps. She stole a glance at her now. Her beautiful mother, gaunt with gold-white hair and lines etched into her troubled brow. That would not be her. She would make it known to her father.

She didn't believe in love, she thought. She believed in a duty to her kin, but above all, she believed in family.

"If you're going to stay a while, then I'll be back. There's something I need to take care of." She left with no further explanation.

* * *

The cellar was dark and smelled of dampness and mold. Jars of pickling lined the cold, limestone walls, caked in dust and long-forgotten. A large distilling tank sat in the corner; Sara need not ask what it was. It smelled acrid like his moonshine, and he warned her not to touch it.

She helped him light a series of candles and he pulled the door shut, securing it behind them.

"Now pay attention, we're only gonna do this once."

With shaking hands, he taught her first the parts of the hunting rifle, and showed her how to load it. His instructions were punctuated by swigs of from a glass bottle, and just before he taught her how to aim, he insisted they both take a shot of liquid courage. Sara's lungs burned and she grimmaced at the taste, but nevertheless, she positioned the rifle as he'd taught her to.

He cleared the shelf but for a single jar and stumbled toward the stairs behind her. Her hands were sweating. Any minute someone could find them down here and then what?

"Take a deep breath and lower your elbow a little," a voice whispered in her ear, making her flinch. It wasn't Michael's voice, but she'd heard it before. In the closet.

"What are you waiting for? Shoot!" Michael growled.

She inhaled deeply, dropped her elbow a little, and squeezed the trigger for what felt like the longest half-second she'd ever lived. The rifle kicked back into her shoulder with a deafening blast as the bullet exploded from its chamber. Her ears rang and she stumbled backward, her shoulder aching as she dropped the gun stumbling back toward the stairs to sit.

"Holy shit! Holy shit!" Michael grabbed her shoulder and shook it gruffly, laughing as the ringing faded. "You're a good shot, kid! You're a goddamn natural! Look at that-holy shit!" He laughed like a madman.

Sara looked to the shelf where her target had been to see a pile of glass and rancid tomatoes dripping on the floor. She laughed a little to herself, although why she didn't know. Incredulous, perhaps. Michael hugged her, shaking her all the while, kissing her head with pride. But then she started crying.

"Wassamatter?" he asked, sobering a little, but Sara couldn't put the feeling into words, so she just sat there a while, crying, telling him over and over again that she didn't know. It wasn't until she left some time later that she figured the feeling out.

She didn't want to be the hero. And an even larger part of herself was wishing she didn't have to be.

* * *

She walked the horse and wagon along the road for quite some time, the wind picking up speed and biting, but she was glad to have reprieve from the chapel for a little while. Where gravel began, a mile from the nearest house, sat a boulder, which she now sought the chance to sit upon and wait. The horse nibbled at dried out patches of grass waiting for the dust of snow that would come before long. Georgia sighed, hugging herself as she looked down the road.

Trade day.

She left the mess with the rioters to Abberline, Frank, and Hamish, all of whom had far worse done to their homes. It had been a week since the riots and trade became necessity. There wasn't enough board to cover windows, not enough supplies to repair greenhouses, and the threat of famine lingered yet again. Georgia sighed and pinched her brow as the sound of wheels grating against gravel came up behind her.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Palmer," he offered her a grin, hopping from the wagon as he made his way around behind it to open the trailer.

"Did you bring what I asked for?" Georgia glanced casually at her shoes as if he weren't worthy of her time.

He dug in the breastpocket of his coat before he produced a thin, wooden box and a small parcel. "Both are made of glass. See to it you're careful."

Georgia peeked inside the wooden box, the glass syringe glinting back at her in the overcast light. The needle was as fat around as a tapestry needle and it made her shudder. "But it will work, you said?"

"Oh yes. The instructions and suggested dosage are there as well." He paused. "What'd you say you needed it for?"

"Hamish has injuries," she spouted the deft lie that came on the spot. "It's why he's not come to collect what he has asked of you, but he does send his thanks." She closed the box, watching him drag planks of plywood from one cart to the next. She handed off the wood, wool, and a number of other items before they parted ways. As she made her way back to the village, she felt herself begin to breathe a little easier. She would regain the control she craved.

* * *

It was dark, but snowing lightly, the moonlight bouncing off the bare fields. Jane was walking the dirt road barefoot, but the cold didn't bother her. She merely continued on, finally approaching the single lane of darkened houses. She stopped, noticing windows with open drapes, doors left ajar, even just tiny cracks, and suddenly the whole thing felt off.

To her left something moved in the shadows, unseen, but she could feel its eyes watching her. She lingered for a split second, trying to see, but decided she was happier not to know. She ran full-tilt along the road. "Sam? Sam! Everything's wrong..." she called out, searching for him, but he never showed himself. She stopped, her heaving breaths coming out liks soft clouds on the wind. Snowflakes dusted her hair, got stuck in her eyelashes. And then she looked down. Saw Eliza there, her lips turning blue, her eyes open and glassy. She dropped to her knees and shakily reached out for a hand. "Lizzy?" Jane held her hand, trying to squeeze the warmth back into her graying fingertips.

"I need he-"

The words caught in her throat. She got up, staggered along drawing shaking, rasping breaths. Morris Fletcher's throat was slashed, Frank Marshall's head lay inches from his hand at his side, body after body.

She screamed for Sam until her throat felt raw. And suddenly there was the Undertaker, sitting at the end of the lane, sharpening his scythe, dead silent.

"What are you doing here?" He didn't answer. "I said what are you doing here?! TELL ME!"

He stopped, but he didn't look up at her.

"Where's Sam? Where did you take him?"

He returned to his sharpening.

She grabbed him and attempted to shake him, but the skin peeled away from his face as if removed by none other than the wind itself and it grew into one of the beasts that had tried to kill her in her kitchen. She gave a terrified scream before it tried to slice her throat with the scythe.

"JANE!"

She felt sweaty, her eyes darting nervously around the room. Sam was cradling her, his brothers standing over the side of the bed. He pressed a handkerchief to her nose, which she resisted at first but eventually succumbed to. The room was eerily quiet.

"She was just having a nightmare. Both of you go back to bed, alright? I've got her now," Sam insisted. She curled up in his arms her eyes and throat stinging. Only when they left and were out of earshot did he speak again, this time in a whisper. "I'm here. Don't be afraid. I'm not going anywhere."

"What happened?" She asked, unsure of whether or not she wanted the truth.

"It looked like you were just in a fit at first, but then you started thrashing, screamin' my name." He paused. "Did you see something? Tell me what you saw. If it was about me, then I should..."

"No."

His grip on her loosed a little. "What do you mean?"

"I don't want to tell you what I saw."

He looked at her for a minute, confused. "Why not?"

"You're mad. Oh God, Sam, please don't be mad..." blinding exhaustion crashed over her like a wave.

"Why don't you wanna tell me what you saw? I thought we were in this together."

"We are... I... Sam, I can't."

He let her go, gently, but he wouldn't look at her or speak to her.

"It's complicated, Sam. I don't understand them when they happen. I don't...I don't want to scare you."

He tugged the covers up over his shoulder again, blowing out the candle beside it. "I would rather be scared with you than watch you terrified and alone." And that was the last he said.

He lay with his back to her, while she pressed the handkerchief to her nose, lethargy starting to settle in behind her eyes. As she drifted back to sleep, she wondered why it was that he left the curtains wide open.

* * *

He woke early and picked the softest shirt he could find in the drawer, made himself look sharp as if it were a Sunday, but he never would've done this on a holy day.

Today they would reconvene and decide what was to be done with the ten whom it had been decided had started the uprising. The decision had been made and all that remained was the announcement to be delivered at sunrise.

They'd been left in the cold night without food, but rather than feel the preacher's sympathy he often felt for his wife and his daughter and others who had committed transgressions in his lifetime, he harbored nothing for derelicts like these. They had been out to kill him, out to harm his family and the others of the commune, out to destroy everything sacred that their precious, foolish, ungrateful existences relied on. Soon enough, they would pay for it. _'Bite not the hand that feeds you,' _he thought as he passed a house that seemed to have faired worse than the rest. Burnt to the ground, the greenhouse ransacked.

It made Hamish hate them all the more. And the rage in him only burned hotter and brighter as he continued to survey the damages. Good, he thought, better to go into judgement and condemnation with a clear conscience on the proceedings. Frank was waiting on the steps of the church when he finally arrived.

"Are we ready?" he asked as Hamish approached.

"I've never been more certain of any decision in my entire life." And it was the earnest truth.

And then very slowly, people began to trickle in, Cain and Abraham escorting the prosecuted into the room. The ten of them looked sleepless and grateful to be out of the wind, but they were brought to the front to kneel, facing all the people they'd betrayed. Behind them stood the four who had determined their fate.

Abberline spoke first. "The names of those who stand accused are Morris Fletcher, Jonas Grady, Elijah Barrow, Grace Barrow, Richard Carver, Lucian Rowe, Marylee Neville, Violet Neville, George Walker, and Timothy Ratliff."

"We would like the families of the accused to know this decision is not one that we take or arrived at lightly," Frank continued. "But the prosperity of our home and our sacred lands has been forsaken. They have done irreparable damage to your lives in a time when security is of utmost importance."

"It is our unanimous decision," Hamish began, "that each of the accused will be put to a public death before their peers. A death befitting the severity of their actions. And the ten families who have been harmed the most by their transgressions will be given the remains to live off of for the winter."

There was applause. The woman who had kept the house that had burned wept. A decision that was easily and unanimously accepted, Hamish smiled to himself for that. A few of the accused cried-Marylee Neville even screamed.

Georgia silenced them. "The proceedings will take place in two hours upon the choosing block. All are encouraged to attend and learn from the mistakes of their peers. We, the Council, adjourn this meeting of judgement. Thank you."

The people filed out, satisfied with the proceedings, until all that remained were Sara and Hamish. She looked at her hands in her lap.

"I would like you to stay with your mother. No need to cause her undue distress," he said, sitting beside her in a pew. She nodded.

"Are you angry with the proceedings?" he asked.

"I understand why you did it. But I don't think I agree with it."

He fought an urge to strike her for insolence. "Why is that?" he asked, his voice taught.

She couldn't look him in the eye at first. "Because we've seen enough death and killing lately."

He had nothing to say to her and he justified it by telling himself he didn't need to say anything at all. "Go home and sit with your mother."

She left without further words, leaving him to sit in the pews and think on it a while.

* * *

The crowd was alight with fervent energy. At the head of it all stood families who's homes had seen the worst of the damage-none with pity in their eyes. Just a thirst for revenge and aptly served justice. Naturally, Abbney's wife was nowhere among the crowd, Anna noticed. She rolled her eyes. How pathetically human to be so feeble.

Thus far, she had succeeded. They were turning on themselves as planned, and although that riot had gotten vastly out of hand, it had worked to her advantage. She smiled to herself.

"Hi," Silas smiled, appearing beside her. He slipped his hand into hers. "You sure you want to stick around? It's going to get bloody."

She nodded.

Five of the ten accused knelt on the stone altar. Even their families showed no sympathy. None of them begged or cried for their loved ones to be spared. Perhaps she'd miscalculated. They were an entirely different breed from any humans she'd ever studied. Something that delighted, fascinated, and terrified her all at once.

"By the grace of god, this community sentences those accused of uprising to die." There were no last rites. Nothing ritualistic about it. The first one startled Anna enough that she grabbed for Silas' hand and squeezed.

Hamish grabbed Jonas Grady's head as he wrestled and held it taught just before the hunting knife sent a jagged gush of blood rippling down the front of his shirt. He fell forward, choking and gagging on the blood. And the ones that followed were the same until the stone altar was slick with viscous blood. They brought up the last five, forcing them to kneel in the mess, and then it began again.

Clouds rolled in overhead and the wind kicked up as the first few flakes of snow began to fall. Silas noticed them in Anna's hair and smiled at her, but she was watching Morris Fletcher.

He was clearly the ringleader. They had hands on him, trying to force him down and keep him on his knees. He cursed loudly for children to hear, proudly proclaiming that all of them could go to hell. Spat at Hamish.

In a blind rage, Hamish lashed out with more strength than anyone likely thought him capable of. He drove the hunting knife swiftly into Fletcher's cheek and tugged it out from the shocked 'o' of his mouth, reached in and forced his jaw down until it snapped and he choked on the blood, and then he plunged the blade into his neck, just above his collar bone, and tore just enough tissue to make him choke on his own life force.

He let him fall forward with a limp, disgusting "plup." And there he stayed, flinching like a fish out of water as Hamish left the altar.

Anna waited there in silence, watching the snow fall in delicate, fat flakes upon the bloody altar before Cain and Abraham hauled Fletcher's body away. _Who knew the sick bastard had it in him, _she thought, stunned. Silas jarred her attention by placing a kiss on her cheek. "I'll walk you home." He led her off before the crowd thickened, holding her hand the entire time. People were starting to notice, and they most definitely wouldn't like it, as no official engagement announcement had been made.

But behind them all, Jane stood, not looking at the altar as everyone else seemed to do, but at what was a short distance behind them.

A dark skinned angel with black wings, and a raven perched on the brim of his tophat. He hovered over the bodies laying just behind the altar, but in an unexpected turn, he looked up at her. And then he did the one thing that sent a shiver down her spine.

The Undertaker smiled.

* * *

Sara stood at the kitchen window, watching as it snowed, waiting on the bread that was nearly ready to come out of the oven. The sun was fading fast, another day gone, and before long her father would return home. Just the three of them again for another night. One that she hoped would be better than some of the last.

She sipped a mug of tea, thinking back to the rifle lesson. Her eyes flicked to the one beside the door, and in her head she took an inventory of its parts in her head. Pictured herself firing a shot. She looked up to the ceiling as the squeak of the rocking chair creaked on the aging floors and a grandfather clock ticked in the living room.

The snow fell faster.

"We're running out of time, Sara," came the whisper in her ear.

She whirled to see a boy, not much older than she, standing a foot away. "You have to do something."

"Who are you? How did you get in here?"

"That's not important. You have to trust me, alright? You need to do something. Before they do."

She stared at him for a minute. "Why should I listen to you when you won't even tell me your name?" She inched her way across the kitchen, nearer the rifle.

"You shouldn't. That's smart. But I know you, Sara. I watched you grow up in this house. I need you to trust me, just this once. Your mother isn't safe. Your father isn't safe. You're not safe."

"You're wrong." A moment's hesitation. Doubt crept in. "This community is the safest place there is." She was spouting words she'd been taught before she even knew what they meant. Her fingers wrapped themselves around the steel barrel, the heel under her arm, and one finger on the trigger and ready to shoot. "You're a liar. And you need to leave. Right now."

"You're the only hope they have, Sara."

The front door swept open, drawing her attention. Her father. She fumbled with the gun in her arms and finally set it beside the door again as he removed his winter coat, hat and gloves. Sara watched innocently as he made his way into the kitchen, seemingly to speak with her, but then he stopped and sniffed the air.

"Something in the oven?" he asked.

That shook her out of the daze she'd been in immediately. She rushed to the oven to retrieve the bread before it burned. Once it was resting on a cloth on the counter, she turned, expecting to see the boy where he'd been, but there was nobody there.

Hamish observed this; "Looking for something?"

Sara hesitated, but shook her head. "I'll have supper ready soon. Mother's upstairs resting." They both looked to the ceiling where the boards still squeaked. She'd be in the rocking chair, they both knew. "I think she's beginning to feel better," Sara gave him an encouraging smile. "She talks more now. Seems more...normal."

Hamish nodded and looked distantly toward the stairs with something vacant and undescribable in his eyes before he turned to her with a slight and forced smile. "All your doing, my girl. You bring out the best in her." He left Sara there, smiling, as he took to the stairs to look in on his wife.

* * *

"It is a true relief to have the burden of silence lifted," Anna smiled wistfully at Abberline across the table.

"I'll admit to agreeing with the majority when you chose to take a weaker link instead of a stronger one straight off." Abberline stirred the cream in her tea. "They insisted leadership had fallen into the wrong hands, but it looks to have played to your advantage. Who would suspect a mute?" they chuckled softly.

"Going after one in leadership was far too risky up front. People would notice if things had changed too quickly."

Abberline gave a sage nod. "If you don't mind my asking, why have you chosen to proceed slowly in this endeavor? Why not have the bloodbath and have the thing done and over with?"

Anna took a drink of the tea with a grimmace. Somewhere the craving existed within the part of the host that she'd consumed, but the taste did nothing for her. She pushed it away, her fill had. "If it fell to me we would have. We would've moved on by now. But I was instructed to move gradually. We didn't destroy Mars in a day and Earth has a few more advancements than they did."

"True enough, I suppose. But the Mars invasion really was a mess. The whole thing just completely out of control."

Anna shrugged. "I suppose that's what happens when you leave a man in charge." She thought spitefully of Cain and how he'd botched the entire operation. The higher ups had been furious. "I suppose they learned from their mistakes. And besides which, Earth is a much more lucrative planet for studying anyway."

The conversation fell silent. "What are we waiting on now?" Abberline asked finally.

Anna smiled languorously. "Waiting for them to turn on each other, of course. Why waste the effort to take them down when they're doing such a fine job of it themselves?" Anna took the mug of tea again and sniffed it. "And if I'm honest, I do find it fascinating to watch."

"The Palmer boy is going to marry you, you know," Abberline said suddenly switching gears. "He's inquired about a meeting."

"Ah yes. That. All well and good. I'll deal with him when the time comes." She'd have to. And she would, but for now it was crucial to leave him untouched. She would play the part of his blushing bride for a while, just long enough to ensure that the ones who hadn't been snatched believed nothing at all was wrong. More than anything, Anna wanted them to believe all was well. The last ones standing were the ones they could save for fun and games.

"The next dispatch will arrive at the full moon next month."

Anna nodded approvingly. All was going according to plan.


	8. Episode 7: Cabin Fever: Part 1

**ONE YEAR EARLIER**

The basket had been filled with pinecones and holly and she was now trudging back through the snow, Mina and Sara, the three of them singing a Christmas carol. Anna's red hair blazed like fire in all the snow as they headed back home, but out of nowhere a burst of something cold hooked itself between her shoulderblades and sprayed out. She turned to see Silas, nearly fallen over from raucous laughing with Cain standing beside him.

Anna glared, her lips pursed as she handed her basket to Sara. She stooped, packed some snow and took slow steps forward.

"Let's just go home," Sara called, but her words didn't seem to reach Anna.

Instead, once she was satisfied with the closeness of the distance between them, Anna pelted him in the chest with the snowball, biting her lip to hide her silent chuckling. From there the war was waged.

They didn't waste time packing snowballs down anymore. They just threw armfuls of snow until the ground had been almost cleared and they were both damp. He was going to throw one last cloud of snow at her until her foot caught on an icy patch. Anna fell forward ontop of him and they stayed like that for a while, both grinning and breathless. He counted the freckles on her cheeks while she studied the smile lines on his face.

Abberline cleared her throat from the porch up ahead. "I hope we're not interrupting anything." Sara and Mina stood off to the side with their baskets looking sheepish as if they should've stopped her.

Silas stood up hastily and helped Anna to her feet. "No ma'am. There's an icy patch here; she slipped and I caught her is all." He offered the same charming smile to her mother as she nodded.

A hint of a smile edged onto her mother's face. "How lucky we are, then."

Anna hurried along, taking her basket back from Sara as she made her way into her house. Her skin was cold to the touch for ages, but she didn't notice. She was too warm in her heart to care.

* * *

**PRESENT**

Silas and Hamish showed up at the front door with a pine tree under their arms, greeted by Sara. She stood aside to allow them in and then went to the kitchen doorway to stand with her mother as they cut the ropes from its boughs.

"See? It's just the way it is every year, mother. Things will be fine." Sara was trying to hold on to the hope that the elders' judgement on the rebels had brought things back to normal. No more uprising, no more murders, or violence, or chaos. "We'll decorate it, you and I. And I already picked apples for cider. It'll be like always."

Eliza smiled a little, pressing a kiss to Sara's head. "My sweet girl," she whispered, hugging her tight. "Let's go and get some of the decorations from the attic, hm?"

The two of them made their way up the stairs and eventually to the end of the hall, just before the closet. Eliza reached up for the cord and pulled the hatch down, exposing the ladder. Sara climbed up behind her, feeling the chill in the air amid the smell of dust.

"Where did we put them last year? Do you remember?" Eliza asked, searching through boxes in one direction while Sara looked around on the opposite end.

It was good, Sara thought, to be carrying on a normal conversation. Good to have some distance. Good to regain the things that had been missing for weeks and all the many months since the circles appeared in the corn. Sara took the creaking steps toward the window and looked down at the snowy landscape, thinking of how pretty it could look from this height. She could see other houses down the lane getting smaller and smaller. The edges of the corn fields, and even where the road split in another direction.

Down a short distance she watched Anna enter the greenhouse with Cain. It seemed at first innocent enough, but as she went back to searching for ornaments, she wondered what he would be doing over there anyway. The greenhouse was fixed, and if it wasn't, wouldn't Anna have asked Silas?

She found her eyes wandering back to the window.

Down in their yard stood Anna, who, not a moment before had been at least three houses away. She looked Sara directly in the eye even from the distance. Sara, startled, tripped back into a series of boxes, landing sharply on the floor.

"You can't trust her," she heard the boy's voice in her ear again. "She's in charge of everything. Stay away from her, Sara."

"Careful, some of this is fragile," Eliza reprimanded, coming to help her up. "You included. Did you hurt yourself?"

Sara looked at her for a moment before forcing a smile. "No. I'm alright. Just tripped, that's all." Another lie. She felt a stab of regret for it, but if it would keep the peace in their house, Sara would subscribe to lies. It still felt wrong, even if the reasons were all of the right ones.

"Oh look, you found them after all," Eliza smiled, picking the box up from the floor beside them. She headed back toward the ladder.

Sara lingered a while longer, edging her way back toward the window where she peered down again and saw Anna standing there still, something dangerous etched on her face. Sara scowled back, unafraid. She wanted a fight?

Oh, she'd get one.

* * *

Despite the fact that his mother sat on the council, the four of them together before him still felt imposing. His mother's face was stoic, without bias, and Abberline seemed to have a harsher gaze than usual.

"You may begin," Hamish folded his hands in his lap waiting to hear what Silas had to say.

"I seek the council for permission to marry Anna Connors." He tried to sound confident, but he wasn't so sure he succeeded.

"And your reasoning for bringing the council to hear this proposal?" Frank asked.

He looked at the floor and thought back over what he had rehearsed. Took a deep breath. Out it came. "In the eyes of the Lord, I feel I am a dutiful servant. I would like to continue my duty by marrying to further the commune's ideals of success through procreation." Cain had told him to bring it up, but it felt wrong and he shook his head.

"She's...she's all I care about. I think of her above myself, if she would like the work I've done. If she would be proud of me. Everything I do in my life, I feel like it's for her."

Georgia gave a slight, imperceptible nod. He saw.

"I feel fated to be with her. She's my person and I'm hers and the only way I wanna live now is with her. As her husband."

"A passionate speech, but there is more to it than your heart's desire. What if you have children who are...like her. You know of her impediments."

Silas shrugged. "They'll be mine, won't they? Just like she will. I won't love them any less, if that's what you mean."

"I don't think you understand the struggle of raising a disabled child-" Abberline joined in, but Silas still smiled.

"I think life is all struggles, Ma'am. With Anna beside me, I know we'll get through them. Together." He sighed. "I can't picture myself walking through life with anyone else. I want to go through those ups and downs with her. Everything happens for a reason, doesn't it? Because we're meant to learn something. If I marry Anna, I promise you I will never _stop _learning. She and our children will teach me new things every day." He stopped to collect himself, drawing a deep breath in. "She's the only woman I want to be with. I swear on my life that I will take care of her, love her, cherish her, stand by her for the rest of my life."

There was a smothering silence that took over after that. The Elders seemed to be scrutinizing him, even his mother, but he didn't let his worry show. He wouldn't.

"Shall we vote?" Frank asked, eyeing his fellow council members. "I approve this proposal. I believe your intentions are pure, and what more can be asked for than that?"

"I approve this proposal," Georgia joined in. "Without bias, I believe you are her best match, and that the two of you are meant to walk hand in hand for the rest of your lives."

Hamish cleared his throat. "I approve this proposal on the grounds that you both will teach and learn from each other. Growth and learning provide a strong foundation for a marriage, and yours will no doubt see much of both."

Abberline stared him down for a tense and agonizing minute. Her face was entirely unreadable, as if she were deliberately trying to scare him. If she said no-as a mother and an elder-it was over. There would be no wedding unless the approval was unanimous.

"On the basis that you will love, cherish, and comfort her with all of her flaws and all of her charms... I approve this proposal."

He almost fell to his knees, smiling and laughing. "Thank you. Thank you." He mustered before he left the church at a running pace to find her.

* * *

He entered as she was smashing pots and throwing things. She'd assumed her role as a human perfectly in every way, he thought, but she stopped, the damage done.

"Having a bad day?" Cain pouted, but the pout shifted to a smirk. "You'd best be careful doing that in broad daylight. Your doppleganger was a mild one and no one will buy your cover if you blow it."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" She roared.

Cain put his hands up in mock surrender. "I'm just saying, you might want to put a lid on it. I heard your boyfriend was going to see the Council today. He'll probably come running here straight after."

"What are we going to do about the Abbney girl?" She had begun to pace on the spot, her hands shaking as they balled in and out of fists.

"Why do we need to do anything at all?" he asked.

"She knows too much."

"Have you by chance met her mother? I doubt anyone would believe it if Little Miss Prudence did start talking." Cain rolled his eyes and feigned an interest in the broken pots on the table. "And what difference does it make if she does?"

Anna stopped, something changing on her face as she thought things through. "She won't."

"Oh? How do you know?"

"I'm going to take care of her myself." Anna let herself out, a dark scowl turning to comfortable joy.

* * *

It was nice to pass a few hours in solitude, just the two of them together, they way it used to be. Eliza sat in her rocking chair, knitting a hat while Sara worked on her embroidery. There was a knock at the door that made both Sara and Eliza give it a fearful glance. In the end, it was Sara who went to answer it.

"I baked shepherd's pie. Had enough to make two of them, so I brought one for you," Georgia invited herself in, handing the pie off to Sara as she closed the door. Both heads turned to Eliza, who seemed suddenly hyperfocused on the knitting in her lap. "You're looking more yourself, aren't you?" she asked with a smile, approaching to hug her. "Go on, honey. Go stick that in the oven to warm up before your father gets back. Let your mother and I talk for a minute."

Sara hesitated at first, but heeded the instruction upon her mother's nodding request.

Georgia knelt beside her, smiling and rubbing her arm. "Look at you. You look so good, you've got your complexion back and everything. Have you been sleeping again?"

Eliza nodded, a slight smile creeping to the corners of her lips. Although she was grown, there was still an urge to please her mother and at the first chance, she reached for it.

Visibly thrilled, Georgia embraced her and kissed her head. "We should celebrate then! Why don't we have everybody over to the house for supper tonight? Jane and Sam, Silas, Hamish, all of us together. We can celebrate with Silas, too. He put his proposal through today."

"Really?" Eliza asked, unable to hide a grin.

"Accepted immediately. Oh, don't tell anyone you know that yet. He wants to do something special for her." Georgia chuckled.

It seemed the darkness truly was behind them. "Dinner as a family? All of us?" Eliza asked. Her mother nodded. "Well, that doesn't sound half bad."

* * *

He was tall, dark haired, handsome, and Sara was glad to have more than just a voice to attach him to.

She had come up to the attic to find another box of decorations when he came from the shadowy corner, whispering her name until she turned to look at him. They'd met briefly in the kitchen once before, but she didn't recall him at first.

"You're the boy who... From..."

"Yes." He nodded, a slight smile on his face. He came closer to her until she could see his eyes, so full of sadness. "You have to run."

Her brow furrowed. "Run? Why?" she asked. "And who are you?"

He sighed and paced in a little box he created for himself. "That's not important right now. We need to get you out of here." He fidgeted in the same way father did when he was nervous or annoyed. Not that her father ever would've admitted to emotions so uncertain as those.

But she still had questions. "Why? Why won't you tell me your name?"

"I told you, it's not important," he insisted.

"It is to me!" She kept her voice low, but even that couldn't remove the pleading in her tone. "You think you can just show up and be Saint Stephen? That is _not _how this works." She turned, searching boxes as if ignoring him would make him leave.

He reached out for her wrist and touched it softly, a gesture that made her jump. "Please, Sara. You have to go. You have to run and tell the world the truth."

She searched his face for a hint of a lie, but found nothing. That made her saddest of all. "I don't understand," she whispered, her own eyes afraid.

They sat in old wooden chairs, a dusty cloud of silence falling over them both. Sara looked at her hands in her lap, but he couldn't take his eyes off of her. "We've been invaded, Sara. Everyone needs you."

She looked to him, a mixture of relief and fear on her face. "You've seen the things too."

"Listen to me." He took her hands and squeezed them tight. "You take that camera and you get as far away from here as you can. I believe in you. You have to do this."

Sara pressed her eyes closed, sniffling and trying to take his words in. "What about my mother?"

"I'll keep her safe for as long as I can. Get out and send help."

She nodded, blinking back tears.

"It's going to be alright. I promise it will." He squeezed her shoulder. "And that box of decorations is in the corner over there."

Sara went to the corner and picked the box up, heading back for the ladder. She hesitated one last time, turning back to him. "Who are you?" she asked agan, softer, and with less demand.

"It's...Henry. Henry Abbney."

Sara went pale.

* * *

The house felt warm and familiar, Silas thought as he stood in the living room admiring the tree he and his mother had decorated. Christmas, the only holiday the commune celebrated besides Easter, was arguably his favorite. There was an unprecedented kind of joy in the air that refused to be marred by negativity. The hateful past of autumn was gone and replaced with a nostalgic familiarity of all the things he loved best.

Jane and Sam arrived first, his sister greeting him with a hug before she disbanded to the kitchen to help their mother. Silas and Sam remained in the living room, admiring the fir that stood in the corner.

"I hear there's going to be a wedding soon," Sam smiled at him.

"Yeah. Turns out she'll have me." He felt a strange sense of joy, thinking of how their childhood had been. He remembered being nine and in the orchard with his mother the first time he saw Anna. Her red hair made her stand out, but more importantly, it was the quiet way she sat at a distance from the other children who played catch with fallen apples. He couldn't figure out why she wasn't wanted, or why she chose not to play herself.

But he found a bright red apple hanging from a lower branch, picked it himself and brought it to her. "It's red, just like your hair," he smiled brightly and offered it to her. She had looked at the apple with skepticism and then studied him closely before she accepted with a gracious smile. She pulled out a slate and wrote a simple "Thank you" on it. That was the girl he'd fallen for. Not because she seemed in any way broken or less, but because she could quietly appreciate everything that went on around her.

"Congratulations," Sam gave him a brotherly hug. "Did you tell her?"

"Like you did for Jane? Nah. I came to ask her to take a walk with me sometime."

Sam laughed. "What'd she say to that?"

"Hugged me. Cried a little," Silas beamed.

The front door opened again, the door opening to allow Sara, Eliza, and Hamish in. Sara was the first to come up to Silas and hug him, closely followed by Eliza. "Congratulations Uncle Silas," Sara said. "We brought you a present."

"Christmas morning isn't for two days! Or did you forget, chipmunk?" He touched a finger to her nose and she laughed, handing the little box to him. He opened it slowly, pulling back the little cloth to reveal a felted ornament. Two little figures holding hands, a star hanging on the string above them.

"You're gonna need that next year. You'll need it when you both decorate the tree together."

Silas smiled and hugged her again. "It's perfect." He turned and put it on the tree front and center where it would be seen. Sara dismissed herself to help her aunt and grandmother in the kitchen while Sam and Hamish talked over cider. Eliza and Silas were left to stare at the tree.

"I hope you'll both be happy," she said, after a while. "You were meant for each other." Her eyes met his for a second and then fell again.

"We will," Silas nodded. "You're looking better, Lizzy. I'm glad." He took her hand and squeezed it tight. "Christmas miracles for us both."

Eliza nodded too, forcing the twinge of sadness away from her as Georgia summoned them to eat.

They sat around the table together, laughing, smiling, sharing a warm meal in the comfort of a familiar home. A few times Sara's mind wandered to darker places, but she forced herself to carry on with a smile. If this would be her last night with her family, she would make it a happy one.

* * *

She sat on the edge of her bed, the camera in her hands. Sara had never asked for this responsibility. Never wanted it. It was burdensome, made her tired and sad and afraid. And even if her mother knew the truth, there was still a sense of duty in Sara's heart and head.

Her eyes moved to the window and to the bare tree just outside of it where she'd seen one of the creatures for the first time. It felt like years ago. Endless years. And now she was someone different. Sara closed her eyes and inhaled. The grandfather clock downstairs chimed softly.

The thing about home is that it's often painful to leave behind. Even if the memories aren't pleasant, and even if one is not close to the people who live there, there remains a kind of ache. The surrender of familiarity made her fidget helplessly. She couldn't waste any more time.

So she stood up, dressed warmly, and put the bag over her shoulder, the camera tucked away inside, and then she took one last look around the room.

It was entirely possible, if not absolutely certain, that she would never see it again. She touched everything one last time, her eyes bluring as she finally left it behind and sought out her mother in the next room over.

"Mother?" she whispered in the dark, but Eliza didn't wake.

Sara approached her with a soft tread, careful not to upset any floorboards, and she knelt beside the bed, putting her hand around her mother's. "I have to go now," she said. "Henry says it's not safe anymore. I promise I'll send help. I'll send someone for you and we'll get away from this. All of it." She sniffled. "Trust me, okay? I won't let you down. I promise." She leaned forward, giving her mother a kiss on the cheek. "Stay strong. I love you, mother."

She lingered a while longer, but inevitably dismissed herself to the hall once more. She checked in on her father, told him goodbye and that she loved him, and then she settled in her mind that she was ready to go.

She crept down the stairs, one by one, remembering which boards to avoid to keep the noise to a minimum. The clock ticked with its familiar cadence as she walked to the front door, a key in her hand. Inside the woolen mittens, her hands were sweating. This would be her only chance and she couldn't risk it going badly.

Sara opened the front door enough to squeeze herself out and then took one last look before she locked the door securely behind her.

It was snowing. Fat, glittering flakes that caught in her hair and on her gloves-flakes so large she could see them in sparkling, crystalline detail. She looked to the familiar houses along the lane, the ones she'd grown up inside of, where her friends and family slept peacefully dreaming of Christmas in warm beds. And she wanted to be one of them, she wanted to be blissfully ignorant again, but there was no hope of going back to that life. The life before knowing, she told herself.

She looked down at the bag over her shoulder where the camera was tucked neatly inside, safe from prying eyes. It would stay that way, Sara had already decided. Until she got to the outsiders' village. She walked along in the dark, unsure of the lengh of the dirt road as she wandered. Would it come up onto the other village? Or would there be two paths? And which path would be the right one?

As the houses and barns grew further apart, she thought she could hear something in the ditch on her right. It rustled softly through the frozen weeds. She stopped once, searching in the dark for it, but the noise stopped as soon as she did. Sara swallowed and picked up the pace a little, trotting briskly for a while.

"Sara?" A whisper from the ditch caught her ear and made her stop. Caleb emerged from its shadows.

Her heart hammered in her chest.

"What are you doing outside? It's so late. Shouldn't you be at home in bed?" he asked, taking her hand and squeezing it.

She couldn't find the words for a minute, just pulled her hand free again. "I... It's not safe here anymore. The murders and the riot-"

"Are taken care of, thanks to your father. It's as safe as it's always been," he smiled in a way that made her feel a little more at ease-made her smile just a little too-and she closed the distance she'd put between them again.

"It's not. I've seen what did those things. I can show you." She reached inside the bag, her hand closing around the camera when another idea occurred to her. "Come with me. We'll go together and get help and when we come back you'll be a hero. Maybe they'll make you the youngest elder ever." She was grinning. "We're just going to go into town, okay? Come with me. We're safer together."

He seemed to be absorbing all of this, nodding his head and mulling over her words. "Yeah. Yeah, okay, let's do it."

She sighed with relief and headed onward. "Okay, but we have to be quick. If anyone catches us, we're going to be in so much trouble."

"What's your plan?" he asked.

"We're going to get into town and find the reporter. He's the only one who knows what's going on."

"Sara, wait. You can't."

"What?" she stopped and turned to him. "I thought you were going to help. Don't you realize how important this is?"

"I do," Caleb insisted. "I just think we need to talk it over, make sure you're not forgetting anything first."

"Forgetting anyth- What?" She turned to face him, his face awash in moonlight. She caught his gaze for a moment and noticed his eyes. There was something strangely different about them. Her brow furrowed with concentration as she tried to think of what was wrong with them. Where she'd seen them before.

Cain. Abberline. _Anna. _They didn't shine like human eyes. There was no reflection in them.

She took off running full-tilt, never daring to look back, but he was only a few footfalls behind her, ten times stronger, taller, faster. A few times she felt sharpness swiping at her back, snagging at her wool coat. She fought the urge to scream and alert the village. If she did, the entire thing was over. So she ran, trying to keep distance between them and failing miserably at it.

And then, like she had done before, Anna appeared cleanly and out of nowhere. Sara tripped forward in the snow, screaming and clutching the bag tightly as Anna sprung upon her, suddenly not herself, beyond the clothes and shock of red hair. She was splinters for teeth and razors for claws that grabbed at Sara's wrists, trying to force her into stillness for the opportunity to slice her throat wide open. But Sara wasn't ready to quit. She kicked Anna sharply in the hip, knocking her away as she scrambled to get to her feet.

She wanted a weapon, but she didn't get the chance to scout for one. Caleb was on her back, tearing at her hair until she felt a steady warmth trickle down the back of her neck. She screamed for help-for anyone who might hear, but no one would. She was at least a mile away from the closest house, and even if she made a break for it, they'd be back on her again.

She felt weak with defeat.

And then, clutching the bag close to herself as she laid in the snow, she felt something she was certain she hadn't put into the bag before. She dug inside, her fingers closing around the familiar handle of a kitchen blade. She let out a furious shriek and stabbed Caleb between the eyes, pushing herself away as his corpse fell.

Sara brandished the knife, unsure of what she planned to do in a situation where she was clearly outmatched, but she realized Anna was nowhere to be seen. Disconcerted, she scrambled quickly to her feet, scanning the bare landscape and the ditches for a sign, but there was nothing to see.

So she ran for it, for as long as she could, the knife always in hand and a fear of being killed sitting front and center in her mind.


	9. Episode 8: Cabin Fever: Part 2

Call it maternal intuition or a disturbance of a nuclear life force, but when Eliza woke on the morning of Christmas eve, she had the very distinct feeling that something was not right. Hamish seemed undisturbed and she hated to say anything at all lest he think her paranoid, so she went downstairs and put the kettle on the stove.

"Sara?" she called up from the foot of the stairs. "Sara, time to get up."

Her call was met with resounding silence. She climbed the stairs and made her way to her daughter's room only to find it empty. Bed made, nothing disturbed. Eliza took to the window and looked out, hoping to find Sara out in the snow-footprints, anything. But there was nothing to see.

Anxiety mounting, she nearly fell down the stairs in the rush to get out the back door. The chicken coop was unoccupied, as was the greenhouse. Her heart skipped whole beats.

Going back inside she pulled the screaming kettle off the burner. "Hamish? Hamish!"

She went from room to room, helplessly calling Sara's name as if she were a young child again and playing hide and seek in a trunk or closet.

"What's going on?" Hamish asked, looking out from their bedroom.

"Sh-she's gone. Hamish, she's gone." Then the panic set in.

He held firmly to her quivering shoulders. "Calm yourself. We'll find her."

Hamish insisted she cook breakfast first. After all, Sara could've risen early and set off to create some sort of Christmas surprise. Why worry so soon?

Eliza still fumbled with the kettle, putting it back on the stove, and nearly burnt both the toast and the eggs for the first time in her life as she focused out the window waiting for Sara to come, but she never did.

"She'll be back. Our Sara wouldn't run away."

"What would you know?" Eliza spat. "If she left to run an errand, she wouldn't do it without telling me."

"You don't know that, she's becoming a woman and soon she'll have her own volition."

His fork scraped on his plate and that was the moment when she finally snapped. Years of anger boiled over and she turned, grabbing his plate and throwing it at the wall, her eyes never once leaving him. She practically vibrated with rage.

He became quiet and humorless in the way he did when he was furious, his eyes turning dark. "Eliza, calm down."

She didn't listen.

She grabbed a mug and threw it, "You expected me to be quiet when you took my baby from me." She grabbed a plate next and threw that too. "You expect me to be quiet and never question anything." Eliza sent a bowl and a glass hurtling at the wall next. "You tell me to calm down, you expect me to be beaten into submission," she threw yet more dishes. "You want me to be meek and afraid and obedient!" She grabbed for the kitchen knife on the counter and brandished it at him as he stood up. "I _won't_ do it anymore!"

He held his hands out in surrender. "Eliza, put the knife down. You can yell all you like, but hurting me is only going to hurt you."

Her hands shook. "Don't come any closer. Don't touch me."

"I'm not going to touch you. I just want you to put the knife down before you hurt yourself."

"You're going to lock me in the closet-!"

"I'm not. I'm not, I promise. If you want to go looking for Sara we can do that. Together. I don't want you to be upset. It's going to be alright, just put the knife down."

Her hand stayed put, but he could see the anger in her eyes fading, turning into saddness. He took one small step forward, and she one step back. He reached slowly for the knife's handle and she let him take it, put it aside, and he held her close. "It's alright. I'm not angry with you. It's going to be alright."

The door behind her opened soundlessly.

"We'll find her, it's going to be alright now."

"You'll find her and then you'll kill her. If she left and you find her and bring her back, you're going to kill her! You'll kill her just like you killed Henry. You can't have my daughter too-" she fought him a little, but he was strong enough to keep her within his control.

"She's my daughter too. He was my baby too. My son died too." His words were not in anger.

Georgia plunged the needle into Eliza's shoulder. She started to cry out from the shock of it, but Hamish pressed a hand over her mouth, holding her close. "Shhh...everything will be alright."

Eliza's stomach hitched and everything seemed to have a sudden hazy glow. "My baby...my baby... Oh god-" she heaved frantic breaths, but Hamish could feel the tension slowly starting to leave her back, her arms growing slack.

"There. Rest now." He swept her feet up and carried her to the living room, laying her down before he covered her with a blanket and smoothed the light hair from her sweaty forehead. Finally he turned to Georgia. "How would you like to go for a little walk?"

* * *

Only when they were far from the lane of houses did they begin to speak. "Don't you think we've all suffered long enough at this?" Hamish looked out at the path before them as they wound their way through the woods. "Her especially?"

"Of course I do."

"So. We are in agreement then."

"On that point and that point only," Georgia hugged her coat tighter around herself.

"It's no quality life, Georgia. Her mind is a broken place and it has been for a long time. We know this."

As if Georgia hadn't let herself feel personally responsible for _that_. She could no longer count how many times she silently wondered if she'd held Eliza too much as an infant or if she hadn't held her enough, coddled her too often when she fell or if she needed the coddling. Had she kept her away from her friends too much in favor of duty or not encouraged independence? Hamish couldn't understand because the child he should have raised the way mothers raised daughters had died. "She's a _person _not a tiller for you to replace when it rusts."

"Surely you can see the toll this is taking. She doesn't get better, there's always something with her, and you and I can't keep at it like this any longer. We're not young anymore."

"Then what would _you _suggest? Please remember you are asking the woman who gave birth to her, cared for her. All these years. All this time, through thick and thin. I am obligated to care for her, as are you."

"Of course-"

"You're bound under an oath of God-"

"I _know,_" Hamish glared at her. "I will see that oath to the end of our days together. I'm merely suggesting that we try to be..._humane _about all of this."

Georgia hesitated. "You are asking an awful lot of me."

"It will be better for her this way. Easier. And for us."

Georgia didn't say anything, she just exhaled in a puff of smoke as they walked along.

"You know Eliza won't recover from this. It won't matter if our Sara is alive or dead." Hamish shook his head. "She won't recover," he repeated.

"Maybe not," Georgia sighed. "But how?"

"Slowly. It will take time and it won't be pleasant for her, but eventually her suffering will end." Hamish looked straight ahead, never once at Georgia. "We should have done it long ago."

Georgia turned on him, stopping him in his tracks. "You want me to be an accomplice to you. You want me to watch her. To sit idly beside her, holding her hand, while you kill her slowly." Georgia was shaking. "I will _not."_

Hamish's face froze momentarily, stoic and emotionless, but his features changed. "Yes. Yes I see."

Georgia clenched her teeth. He came very close to her face as if he didn't want the trees to hear him speak. "I was hoping you would agree. This has been drawn out long enough, but I assure you I am patient. A little while longer won't make much difference."

"I won't let you do this to her."

"Oh, but you already have."

Georgia's brow furrowed and she felt the color leave her face. "Wh-what've you done? What have you...?"

"I won't bother wasting the breath. You already know and I suspect you've known all along."

"I...but..."

"And your next question is "When?" And my answer is, shortly after Sara was born."

"This whole time...you've been poisoning her this whole time."

"As her husband, it's my job to take care of her, our dear Eliza. And I will take care of her for as long as she lives." He smiled easily. "I welcome you to try and stop me."

He continued on and left her there in the wind, a weight on her chest, and finally when she could breathe again, her old and withering bones carried her back to the house as fast as she could will them.

* * *

No one asked about Georgia when Hamish declared the state of emergency and her lack of presence. It was obvious. The search party followed a lightly snowed over set of tracks to the place where the footprints turned into a knot of tracks. It was Silas who spotted the few spots of blood first.

"Must've been attacked," Silas concluded, crouching beside the spots.

"But the tracks continue from here," Frank said. "They head..." he didn't need to say it. It was obvious which direction they were headed in.

"Do we look for a body like-?" Abe began.

"Like the others?" Hamish asked. "Doubtful. If she'd been killed, here at least, there would be more blood."

"Perhaps the continued tracks are those of her attacker?" Abberline suggested.

"Looks like something was dragged to the ditch, but after it disappears into the field." Frank peered into the ditch, aware that from there, he would see nothing except the lanes of the tilled field.

"Enough," Hamish commanded, looking pained. "This information does not leave this spot. Do you understand?"

Silas's face clouded, brows knitted. "What do you mean? Sara's missing, there should be a search party," he bristled at the notion of giving up on his niece.

"We will tell them she was attacked and dragged away against her will." Hamish studied the situation, formulating the coverup as he went. "It will serve to diffuse any tension that might follow as a result and it will spare the shame on our house."

"But that's a lie-" Silas argued, his voice rising.

"Have you not born witness to what we have endured in these past months?!" Hamish roared.

"She's your daughter!"

And then the old man grew strangely quiet. "Yes. This community protects its own, my wife and daughter included. What do you think it would do to your poor sister if she learned her daughter ran away in the dead of night? Need I remind you, it's Christmas eve."

"It will look bad to the others too if the daughter of an Elder ran," Frank added. "They'll mutiny. It would be a disaster."

"The truth can't be allowed to escape," Abberline agreed, approaching Silas. She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "My dear boy, your intentions are good and right. Your desire to be honest and helpful is admirable, but for the sake of the greater good, the truth of the situation cannot fall on hungry, restless ears. The decision is final."

Hamish, Frank, Abe and Abberline started away.

"You might give up," Silas scowled, "but I'm not gonna. That's my niece out there. My family. I'm not gonna stop looking until I bring her home to her mother." He tramped through the snow, passing them by, wondering how anyone could be so careless. Wondering how this little community built on a foundation of honesty and integrity was, in actuality, built on a century of lies.

If Sara had escaped cleanly-for any reason-he wasn't upset with her for it. He'd sooner join her. But the notion that her father would so readily abandon her when she could be in dire straights angered him more than a little.

He needed to bring her home.

* * *

Eliza endured the Christmas eve service beside her mother who had not allowed her to be far from sight all day. Jane sat on her left with Silas closeby; Georgia held her hand from start to finish, leashing her like a dog, keeping her tethered to the earth. Just two days before, they'd been smiling, laughing...

No one would tell her what had happened.

At the end, her mother helped her stand, still groggy from whatever she'd been given in the morning. Her mind swam as they exited the church. They filed out into the cold, open air, silence occupying every square inch of land.

"Have you seen my daughter?" she asked softly to the ground, and then again and again to anyone who might be listening.

Georgia held Eliza's arm in hers, Hamish the other, while hers threatened to slip lifelessly from theirs at any moment.

"Shhh. Let's get you home, baby," Georgia pulled her along.

"Hey. Hey! Wait-wait up..."

The trio stopped and turned to see Michael stumbling their way. He slipped on a patch of ice and fell; Eliza, in a strange moment of compassion, disentangled herself and went to help him up. "Are you alright, Michael?"

"Nothin' broken. Where's your girl at? Didn't see her at the service." He smiled a little, but she misinterpreted it and stepped back.

"You took her, You must have..." the cottony cloud wrapped around her mind began to disperse. "You know she's missing because you took her. Where is she? What have you done?"

"Eliza," Hamish cautioned, taking two steps forward.

"You wouldn't ask if you weren't guilty."

"Enough, sweet girl, let's go home," Georgia reached for her elbow, but Eliza wrenched her arm away.

"Give me back my daughter!"

"I didn't take her, you got the wrong idea."

Eliza came unhinged.

With more force than any of the bystanders might have guessed Eliza was capable of, she struck him hard in the nose.

He stumbled back, gagging and choking on his own blood while others looked on in horror. She was upon him instantly, hitting him over and over again. Hamish dragged her off of him, kicking and screaming.

"How could you? How could you! You took her from me-the only thing that matters!"

"You fix this, I'm taking her home," Georgia muttered to Hamish and signaled Sam and Silas for help. They carried her fighting all the way to her childhood home.

Finally Hamish turned and looked to those who stood around him in a stunned silence. Michael was clutching a grubby handkerchief to his nose and someone offered him a second one. Hamish took a deep breath in, his face turning sad. "My friends and family, I apologize for my wife's outburst, but we have had a very trying day." He removed his hat and squeezed the brim in his hands. "There has been a regrettable development in the recent events that have taken place over the past months. Our daughter was taken from us late last night. Dragged away against her will, by the look of it."

There were shocked whispers and looks of horror and sadness etched on the faces of women. Hamish sighed. "There were traces of blood that indicate she may have been hurt in the struggle. No body has been found. With that said, please be safe. Cherish your night with your families. Though my family has suffered, I wish you joy and peace this Christmas. Please pray for us in this dark time."

He searched the ground for a while before turning and heading back to his home, leaving the people in his charge behind him as if they never existed there at all.

* * *

They walked through the snow with candles in their hands and Abberline trailing behind. The sun had already faded away, but he arrived to take her for a walk. They would be married in two days' time after the holiday was over, but there was no one he would have preferred to spend Christmas eve with than her. Her arm was linked in his, her head on his shoulder.

In secret before he'd hugged her, touched her hand-the things he wasn't supposed to do to a girl he wasn't related to, but she'd always been accepting of the affection. Now they could be together in the open.

"You think we'll have kids by Christmas next year?" Silas asked. "I can't wait to meet them."

Anna looked up at him with a smile.

"We'll have to start some of our own traditions. Maybe we can go out and pick a tree together, all of us. And then me and our boys will haul it home for you and the girls to decorate."

Her brow wrinkled, but she laughed silently, shaking her head.

They passed through the trees near the end of the lane where it forked into a path to the cemetery and the other to the ceremonial clearing. Silas looked back to Abberline and waved. She nodded and gave a smile of approval as they continued on.

"We can do whatever you want. I'm just happy I get to do it with you, that's all. Don't care about nothin' else."

Anna pulled him toward the cemetery, something he found odd, but wouldn't deny her. After all, their marriage would be an equal one, he'd promised, and at that rate, he would go where she wanted. "Are you sure you want to go this way?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at Abberline and then to Anna who nodded and dragged him further into the cemetery.

Silas looked up at the darkening sky, spotting the first stars and the moon in the night.

Anna wriggled her arm out of his and jogged a short distance ahead, knealing before a cross. Her father's name had been soldered into the wood along with his date of death. She pressed a kiss to her fingertips and then touched the wood as Silas knealt beside her.

"You miss him?" Silas asked, his voice gentle as he reached for her hand.

She nodded and sniffed, resting her head on his shoulder. He could not have known that it was her father who understood her best. Her father who never pressured her to do things she didn't want. She was his Anna. Although the feelings belonged to her host, she felt a strange twinge, burying her face into Silas' chest.

He stroked her hair. "Don't cry. We're going to be so happy together. I promise I will be the husband he would have been proud of for you."

Her cries slowed, but her grip did not loosen. In fact, she tightened her embrace until he felt like she was beginning to crush his ribs.

"Hey...hey it's okay. I'm not going anywhere, you can let go. I'm right here..."

Then he felt the claws dig into his back, sharp and burning like hot pokers and suddenly it felt hard to breathe. She looked up at him slowly, her mouth replaced with sharp teeth like splinters.

It was the last thing he saw before she dug a single claw into his throat just beneath his Adam's apple. After that, the corners of his vision went slowly black, and all he could feel was the chill in the air.

* * *

She had finally come upon it. It didn't seem real, not even a little, that she could actually be Outside and away from the home she'd known for so long. It was the place she knew to be dangerous and corrupt and she was terrified to be standing there on what seemed like the edge of it. She stopped beneath something bright and blinding. Sara stared up at it, trying to give the thing a name when she had none to give it-like a huge candle with a bright white flame. She shielded her eyes.

Buildings sat up ahead, different from the houses and barns she knew so well, people coming and going from them before climbing into metal beasts like the one the reporter had come in. Sara clutched the satchel closely to her stomach, studying them all the while. She continued on.

A short time later, she came upon something that had a more familiar sense to it: a neighborhood. It wasn't unlike the lane she was used to, except the houses didn't look identical, there were no barns or greenhouses, and everything much closer together. Peoples' houses were covered in strings of tiny flames in bright colors, trees like her family's own in each window. It was beautiful and she was relieved to have found something more akin to normalcy, or at least the kind she was used to.

For reasons she couldn't name, she felt safer here. More comfortable in this foreign place.

Ahead was a blinding display of Christmas lights in the front yeard of a house. Like a moth to a flame, she approached it, wandering through the way she had the woods. There was a jolly fellow in a sleigh led by deer, boxes wrapped and tied with bows, canes striped red and white along the walk. It made her eyes burn, but she was warmed by the beauty of it, unable to keep herself from smiling.

"Hey! Who the fuck are you?" A man came toward her from the front steps and panic and anxiety sowed themselves in the pit of her stomach again.

"I...I'm sorry."

She ran off quickly into the street, slipping in the slush and tearing her calf on the pavement. Wincing, she shakily got back to her feet just as a car horn blared and two white lights sped toward her.

Then everything went black.

(Author's Note: Apologies for the shortness, but I did want to release this in time for Christmas.)


	10. Episode 9: The Things that Came

"Hush little baby, don't say a word. Momma's gonna buy you a mockingbird." Georgia sat up in bed, holding Eliza in her arms, rocking her just a little. Mother watched daughter as she cried herself into a fitful sleep and remembered a time when she'd done the same as a child.

That was one thing Eliza had never outgrown, not completely. Her need for her mother. Jane had come out of the womb an independent spirit who often fussed when held and never once crawled-just stood up and made up her mind that she was walking one day. Silas had fallen somewhere between the two, a happy combination of needy and self-sufficient. But not Eliza.

Eliza was the child who needed constant reassurance and convincing. She slept in her mother's arms nearly every night until she was three, and if her father hadn't been so smitten with either of them, they'd never have gotten away with it.

After a while, Georgia began to doze, her arms wrapped protectively around Eliza the way they had when she was small. Eventually, she jolted awake, Eliza missing from where she'd been asleep before.

She found her on the top step, clutching a knife to her chest with the vacant expression she knew too well. Gently, Georgia helped her back up, pulling the knife from her grasp as she led her back to bed. Georgia tucked the covers beneath Eliza's chin and went into the drawer beside the bed, trading the knife for the needle. "I'm not going to do this to you again, I promise. Not natural." She measured the amount carefully in the moonlight. "But we've had a rough day, haven't we?" She pricked the tip into Eliza's shoulder and injected it slowly. "It'll be better in the morning."

Georgia stroked Eliza's forehead until the glassy stare departed under heavy eyelids. She stood upright again, watching the shallow rise and fall of Eliza's chest.

Somewhere in the night, several houses away, Jane sat up in bed, her eyes rolled back, mouth open in a silent scream. Sam shook her once, gruffly, and she fell back, convulsing while a stream of blood trickled from her nose. He held her tightly as his brothers entered the room like a stampede of elephants. Her rigid body went slack, and she became more still than death until she roused with a shuddering, wet cough.

"Jane? Jane! Speak to me, are you alright?"

Weakly, she clutched his arm. "Sam, we have to go," she whispered, her mouth and lips dry as he wiped the blood from her nose. "It isn't safe. They're here. The monsters are here. In the village. We have to go."

Sam pushed the hair away from her sweaty brow and rocked her gently. "Shh, don't worry about it now. It's going to be okay. Just rest, we'll figure everything out when you wake up."

Jane nodded slowly and curled into his arms. "They're going to kill us all," she whispered.

He sent his brothers from the room and lay awake a long time, holding her tight.

* * *

"Got a car accident victim, driver says he didn't see it until it was too late. Female, fifteen or sixteen, laceration on the left calf, scalp torn at the nape of her neck, both unrelated. She was unconscious when we arrived on scene, concussion is probable. Condition: unresponsive."

Nurses and doctors moved her from one gurney to another hurrying to check her vital signs while a nurse snaked a tube down her throat. The nameless victim lay unresponsive, the side of her face turning a crescent moon of magenta.

The heart monitor let out a long, slow beep, but no one froze. There was a space of three minutes that went by before the monitor beeped again. The nurse above the girl's head patted her shoulder.

"You hang in there, honey. You hang in there."

* * *

The alarm went off, loud and persistent before a hand reached out and smacked it hard, then stillness. Seconds later, the phone next to the alarm let off a long buzz and a high pitched ring. Annoyed, the woman sat up in bed. "Detective McKee." A pause. "Yeah." Another pause. "Mhm," Pause. "Yeah I'll be there in thirty." Annoyed silence. "Merry Christmas to you too."

"Weld?" James sat up beside her.

"Yeah. Some girl was hit by a car on Westby street last night. He wants me on the case and now I'm supposed to go to the hospital."

James sighed. "But it's Christmas. Your family's gonna be here. My parents are coming, my brother called last night and said he's coming."

"Relax," she pulled out of his arms and then out of bed, the top half of her naked, and made her way to the closet. "It's a visit and some paperwork, I'll be home before anyone gets here."

He gave another annoyed huff. "Serena."

"I promise. Look, everything is in the freezer that needs to go in the oven, the rest is ready in the fridge." She slid her arms into her bra straps and secured it behind her back before tugging an undershirt over her head.

"Last year, your mother tried to shave my beard."

Serena laughed. "I did not marry a man with a beard for a reason."

"You didn't like it?"

"Baby, you can do whatever you want, you know I'm gonna love and support you no matter what." She slid into a pair of pants and sat in a chair to tie her shoes. "Everything's gonna be fine. I just have to go and get a few things done first. I'll be back before you miss me." She pulled the leather jacket over her shoulders and went to the door. James grabbed her hand and squeezed it on the way by and she bent to give him a kiss. "Chickens don't go in until noon, they should be ready to go, just remember to-"

"Baste them every half hour, I know."

Serena kissed him once more. "I'll be home soon." She grabbed her phone from the bedside table and headed downstairs into the snowy morning.

* * *

The sun was blinding and high, the air dry and hot. She stood on the dirt road with a stretching field to her right and a small row of houses to her left. She shielded her eyes and walked on down the road.

As she passed the houses, she realized windows were broken, paint was chipping away from siding and doors hung ajar. There was only unending silence. Nearing the fork in the path, something dark in the trees caught her eyes. Then she could hear the shzzzt of a whetstone sharpening a blade. She squinted up at the figure, dressed all in black with large, raven-like wings.

"Excuse me?" Sara asked. "Excuse me."

The figure stopped sharpening and looked down at her. It was then she noticed his skin was dark and his clothing seemed old.

"Where...where did everyone go? What's going on?"

He let out a low chuckle and jumped from the branch where he sat, scythe in hand. "You are in between." His smile was condescending. She stepped back away from him, her stomach turning in knots.

"What's that mean? What'd you do to my mother? Who are you?"

He chuckled again. "Enough of your questions." He walked along the road past her, whistling.

"This isn't home," she called and turned to face his back. He froze. "Why are we here?"

He looked over his shoulder, sighed, and turned back, shaking his head. "You are here until you decide."

He started to walk again, and Sara ran to catch up, meeting his stride. "Decide what? Why are we alone?" She tried to see into eyes that would not look at hers.

The dark angel stopped, his shoulders sagging with an annoyed growl.

"I'm sorry...please, this is all so confusing. I don't understand why I'm here." She looked into his eyes, hesitantly touching his arms. He flinched as they neared him, but he didn't deny her touch. "Help me understand." He scowled, but slowly his eyes began to soften.

The world around them shifted until the two of them were standing in a foreign and cold room. Something made a high-pitched beeping noise and paused. The sound repeated itself again and she turned, facing the curtain behind her. "Where are we?"

"Have a look."

She pulled the curtain back and gasped ar the sight. She was looking at herself, her face purple and cut, tubes coming from her mouth. "This isn't happening... What kind of witchcraft is this? What did you do to everyone?"

He snapped his fingers and they returned to the deserted village. "Either you live or you die. It's your choice." The winged man continued along the path as though nothing had changed.

"Who _are _you?" Sara shouted after him.

"My name is Dorian." He turned, his wings spreading wide. "I'm sure you're familiar with me by another name." He grinned a toothy grin. "I'm the Undertaker."

* * *

Georgia added oats into the warm milk with peaches and a sprinkle of sugar and brought it to the table, placing it before Eliza and bringing one over for herself.

A smile blossomed on Eliza's face. "Just like you used to make it before the day's work."

The mother chuckled. "I thought you'd like that. Shall we say grace?"

They prayed quietly and ate in relative silence, sunlight breaching through the kitchen curtains. And after, they washed dishes side by side, Georgia scrubbing as Eliza dried. With the last of them done, Georgia grasped Eliza's hand. "I wanted to apologize."

"For what, mother?"

She drew a deep breath and squeezed Eliza's shoulders. "I fear I was too hard on you when you needed me. I've...I've done the wrong things, all the wrong things. But all I ever wanted for you, for your brother and sister too, all I have ever wanted was what's best for you. The same as your father."

Eliza looked down. "I know. I want...wanted...those things for Henry. And for Sara too." Her chin wobbled. "What am I going to do with myself, it's just him and me in that house all by ourselves. What if one of us dies in the Choosing? What if Sara comes back and we're both just gone and no one is there for her?" She choked on her own sobs.

Georgia held her tight. "I'm here for you, baby. I'm going to protect you. Don't cry, everything is going to be alright."

"What if it isn't? I can't live like that..."

"Hush now, hush," Georgia smudged her tears away, cradling her face in warm hands. "Your father and I did not raise quitters. You are stronger than you believe, and together we are gonna get you through this. Do you hear me?"

Eliza met her mother's eyes with a nod before she buried her face in the crook of Georgia's neck.

"Now, there's something I need to discuss with you. Something about Hamish-" Georgia began, but a knock on the back of the door caused both of them to turn. "Speak of the devil..." Georgia muttered and stood to answer the door with a forced smile. "Why, Hamish, do come in. Have you eaten yet? I made oats for the two of us, I'd be more than happy to make some for you."

"No, thank you," his response was stiff and he never once made eye contact with Georgia. He stared Eliza down instead. "I'm here to collect my wife."

Georgia smiled and gave a light-hearted laugh. "How funny, we were just discussing that! I was going to ask Eliza if she'd like to stay with me for a few days so that you might get some rest. I'm sure you'll be rounding up a search party to do a sweep of the fields for our dear Sara."

"Naturally," Hamish nodded. "But who'll keep up the house in her absence?" His voice was tinged with a taughtness that Eliza seemed not to detect. If she had, she didn't make a show of it.

"We'll go keep house for you during the day and she can come back here with me at night," Georgia insisted.

"Don't you think she'd be more comfortable in her own bed?"

"She has a bed here too, in case you'd forgotten. She grew up here." Georgia's eyes turned cold, her hands now resting on Eliza's shoulders.

"Please..."

"I'm her husband, and as her next of kin, I am in charge."

"Stop."

"I'm her mother and I'm keeping her here."

"Stop, please. Please don't do this to me...:"

"Be quiet, Eliza."

She fell silent and sunk back in her chair.

"Don't tell her what to do, you don't own her. She's a woman, not a sheep."

"Could've fooled me with how much wool you've pulled over her eyes."

"STOP! ENOUGH." Eliza slammmed her hand palm-open on the table and although it stung, she looked Hamish hard in the eye. "I want to stay with my mother."

"What made you think you could choose?" Hamish ventured, stepping closer and closer until he was looming over her, making her feel small.

"There a problem in here?" Silas stood in the doorway, an axe over his shoulder, staring Hamish down. All eyes fell to him and the kitchen was shrouded in silence. "Lizzy?"

Eliza looked into her hands, feeling her face go hot and red all at the same time.

"I think it's time you left, Hamish," Silas walked slowly past him and held the door open. On the way out, Hamish locked eyes with him for a single moment, noticing they were different, but unclear as to why.

* * *

Sam's brothers had long deserted the breakfast table in favor of the livestock in the barn, leaving Jane and Sam behind. He ate, watching her carefully when she wasn't looking. She seemed especially tired and even depressed, but he couldn't understand why.

"Can we please talk about what you saw?" he asked, reaching across the table for her hand. Finally, she looked up at him and tried to smile, but her eyes dropped again.

"It's...it was..." she tried to form the words he might understand in her tired mind, but it was taxing. Instead she sighed.

"What did you see? Don't explain it, just tell me what you saw. We'll figure it out together."

Jane looked at him with a bit of fear and desperation in her eyes, a little 'please, don't make me,' before she sighed and relented. "I was walking down the road, and the houses were empty and doors were open, but there weren't any people." She held herself. "But down the lane I saw something, so I went closer and..." She seemed especially distraught, her brow wrinkling as she stifled a cry. Sam squeezed her hand tighter. "There were bodies on the path. Some of them bloody or dismembered, and ahead some hung in trees." Jane drew in a shaky breath. "And then I saw you and I ran to you and tried to wake you up, but you wouldn't and then your eyes opened and you said "Run.""

Sam got out of his chair and came across the table to hold her. "Hey, it's okay. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere." After a moment, he knelt beside her. "What do you think it meant?"

She heaved another breath, gulping her composure back into place. "I...I think we need to leave, Sam. Something isn't right, and I don't want to be around to find out what it is."

"What are you talking about?"

Jane hesitated, swallowing and then she began. "Do you remember when you went off for the first hunt of the season? Right after we were married." He nodded and she continued. "There was a creature that tried to attack me. I told you it was a vision and I got hurt from falling into broken glass, but I didn't and I'm sorry I didn't tell you then, but I didn't think you would believe me-" she stopped to cry into her hands again. "Please, I'm so scared. Please, Sam, let's just go away."

He was at first angry, but knowing he had a secret of his own, the anger vanished. "We'll figure it out together. Nothing's going to hurt us, I promise."

She wanted to believe him, but all the while knowing that fate was a mistress who did as she pleased whether she was liked or not.

* * *

He stood in the mirror, straightening his favorite tie. Once upon a time, it had belonged to Silas Sr, and now it was his. It seemed fitting to wear such a thing on the day of his wedding.

Christmas day had come with sadness and reluctant silence, but he would be married that day, and he hoped, it would at least be a brighter note in an otherwise gloomy and depressing season.

Eliza and Jane entered behind him and he smiled at their reflections. He stepped back, admiring the picture of the three of them, grown and together. Eliza, the eldest, Jane in the middle, Silas, the baby. "Look at us," he laughed. "Who'da thought, huh?"

Jane laughed, rubbing his arm. "I wish the both of you all the best."

Silas turned to Eliza and took her hand. "I know the family's not complete. But we'll get her back."

The church bell rang and Georgia cried out something unintelligible as they broke from their reverie and headed off to the chapel.

As people filed in, Silas waited nervously at the front of the congregation, his mother, Abberline, and Frank sat behind him, Hamish beside him with the Holy book. When every open seat had been filled, Hamish called for the people to rise. As they did, Eliza appeared in the doorway, led by Abe who appeared to be taking the job seriously.

He took in the sight of her walking down the aisle, her red hair falling in curls, lacy shawl around her shoulders. She finally reached him and he squeezed her hand, taking her the rest of the way. They knelt before Hamish, heads bowed, and thus, the ceremony commenced.

At the party after, Eliza and Jane stood apart a while, watching the festivities around them. Anna danced with Silas, little girls skipped around them wearing holly and evergreen crowns they'd made themselves, and the barn was alight with candles to set the mood. In a corner, Frank poured generous cups of ale and to the right, men tossed horse shoes.

"I keep thinking about our kids, you know? I can't wait. I can't wait to meet them." He was at least a little drunk, but cheerful.

Jane looked to Eliza with a smile that faded. "You look upset. Do you want to go home now?"

Eliza shook her head and said nothing.

"I'm going to go find Sam, I'll be back, alright?" Jane squeezed her shoulder and wandered off through the crowded barn.

She stood for a while, watching happiness light the room before her. It was not for her; she could glimpse into a window on everyone else's lives, but that happiness and light was not for her. Eliza gave a tired sigh, eyes threatening to weep again, but she took a deep breath in and willed it back.

A hand on her shoulder startled her. Her eyes met with those of her husband, but she promptly looked away.

"Are you enjoying yourself, dear?" he asked, rubbing her shoulders.

Uncomfortable, she shrugged him off, but remained silent, refusing to acknowledge him.

"Eliza," he began softly. "I know you're angry with me. I know you were offended by me earlier this morning and I'm sorry." Hamish sighed regretfully. "I...the house is so lonely without you both, and I... I miss her as much as you do. I can't tell you how much I miss her." His voice was wracked with tension. "Please, Eliza. Sweetheart, come home with me tonight. We should be together."

She turned, shaking, her eyes rimmed pink and watering. "Why should I trust you?"

"In all these years, Eliza, I promise you. My methods have seemed harsh, but I have always put you and our daughter first. I only have your best interests at heart, and I'm sorry if that was ever unclear to you. I love you and I want what's best for you."

Wearily, her resolve softened, shoulders sagging, and eyes fluttering with exhaustion and sadness.

"Don't cry," he hushed her softly, gathering her up in his arms. "I'm here. I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."

As she stained his shirt with her tears, Hamish allowed himself to smile-just a little-in light of victory.

Jane and Sam found themselves in a dancing circle with Silas and Anna, laughing and spinning, changing partners every few minutes. She joined her brother, twirling under his arm a bit carelessly. He caught her from tripping and she laughingly braced herself by holding onto his shoulders.

She caught his eye and her smile vanished.

"What's wrong?" He asked, stopping abruptly.

She forced a smile and said "Nothing. Nothing, I think I've just had too much to drink to be spinning like this." Jane chuckled and excused herself with Sam to get a bit of fresh air.

"What is it, what's the matter?" Sam asked.

"They took him. He's one of them," she whispered.

* * *

Serena sat at the girl's bedside. She'd come back to the hospital after the relatives had dispersed or gone to sleep, unable to get the young thing out of her mind. The heart monitor beeped in a steady cadence, the hush of the ventilator sustaining her for now while an IV dripped above them.

Serena reached up and brushed the girl's hair aside, holding her hand with the other. "C'mon, honey. It's Christmas. I ain't gonna let you spend it alone."

In the corner, Sara stood with Dorian, watching the woman, all the while feeling her touch. "Who is she? Why is she here?"

Dorian didn't answer. He continued to watch over the scene, feeling heavy-hearted, but he wouldn't let it show. He had a job to do, and so did his charge. "Have you made a decision yet?"

Sara shook her head. "If I live, then I might never see my mother again. I might be too late to save her. And I don't know what I'll do if I am."

"But...?" he asked after a while.

"But I've risked too much not to try."

It was quiet for a while again, just the hush and hum of machinery. And then, Serena, with a sigh, began to gently rub Sara's arm. Softly, she began to sing.

_"Blue skies_  
_Smiling at me_  
_Nothing but blue skies_  
_Do I see."_

Sara wandered closer to the woman, hesitating before she got any nearer.

_"Bluebirds_  
_Singing a song_  
_Nothing but bluebirds_  
_All day long._

_"Blue days_  
_All of them gone_  
_Nothing but blue skies_  
_From now on."_

She stood behind the woman, looking down at her and her body, feeling the weight of her decision as it fell heavy on her shoulders. "I have to stay," she said softly at first. She turned to look at Dorian. "I have to stay. Wake me up, I have to stay." She turned back to watch herself a moment longer, waiting for something to happen. "Is it working? How does it-" She turned again, but Dorian was inexplicably gone.

She was trapped in a limbo with no one now to explain what might come next.

* * *

He brought her tea to her with the hope that it would strengthen his story. He added a spoon of sugar from the pot to the cup and stirred it thoroughly before carrying it upstairs. Hamish sat down at her side and offered her the cup and saucer, which she took and smiled weakly at him before she sipped it.

"I'm glad you came home," he smiled, rubbing her leg.

She swallowed a sip of her tea. "You were right. We're a family and we should be together." She nursed her cup a while longer before he noticed her grimmacing. "Can we sleep? I feel a little ill."

"Of course. Of course we can." He set her cup aside, pulling the blanket up as she turned over. Snuffing the candle out, he made his way to the other side of the bed and slipped under it too, careful to keep his distance.

He'd dusted her nightgown, her side of the bed, and her pillow with arsenic.

* * *

**FEBRUARY**

The days were growing longer.

At five-thirty, the gentle light of the gloaming was still sneaking in through the lace curtains. Before long, there would be a Choosing and planting would begin. The snow would melt and things would bloom. But she did not care to look forward to those things. Not just now. She brushed a hand through her thinning hair.

She'd been with her mother that afternoon, tucked under a blanket in the living room, shivering and thin. Georgia held her hair back while she retched into a bucket, shuddering like a leaf in the wind. Hamish had restricted their access to each other, finding reasons to keep them apart. After Georgia cleaned the bucket, she returned with tea, letting Eliza rest her head in her lap.

"It's Hamish, sweetheart. He's been giving you things to make you ill."

"No, he wouldn't... It's just the two of us, we're all we have now. And he takes such good care of me."

"Fine then, we'll go back to your house and have a look around. We'll see what we see."

And that was precisely what they did. In the shed, they found a single box.

_'He's coming, Eliza. He'll be here any minute.'_

She gritted her teeth. The voice that whispered in her ear was only a confirmation of what her mother had said. At first she hadn't wanted to believe he could hurt her, wanted to think only the best and that Hamish was just acting in her best interests. But then her mother explained what would happen if he were poisoning her. Her hair would be thin and dull, she would perceive things no one around her did, among other things that seemed less severe or noticeable.

But there she sat with a box in front of her that she'd never seen before. It had to come from the trader, because nothing of that variety existed in the village. A grimacing rat lay on the front of the box beneath the bold letters "RAT KILL." She stared into it as if it were feeding her answers to all the questions that swam in her mind.

The front door opened, but her focus didn't budge.

"Eliza? Are you down here? Is dinner ready or do I have time to wash up first?"

She sat very still, feeling as if she might combust at a moments notice. He appeared in the doorway at last and her eyes flicked to him, daring him to try to explain.

"What are you doing with that? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?" He stepped forward, his tone quiet in the way he reserved for trying to manipulate her.

"I don't know. Do I?" She asked, looking to the box briefly. "But I suppose I'd rather know...do you?" Her eyes met his.

He focused on the box, but he made no answer.

"All this time. You made me believe I was crazy. You made me believe I was sick. You made me believe you were my salvation. Why?" She looked at him expectantly, trembling. "**Why?**" She only hesitated a moment. "Answer me!" She was on her feet.

"What will you do, Eliza? Who will you tell? You'll tell everyone, of course, but who will believe you?"

"How long? How long, Hamish," her voice cracked.

"Just after Sara was born."

She collapsed back into her chair, nearly too exhausted to hold up any kind of a fight. "You've been killing me slowly for sixteen years?" Her eyes watered, stomach turning to rocks.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why does it matter? Run, go tell everyone their leader has been poisoning his wife. No, truly, do it. I want to see what happens."

Eliza was on him instantly, grabbing at his shirt. "Kill me, then. Kill me. What are you waiting for, do it! Do it."

Hamish grabbed her wrists in a tight clenching grasp that made her buckle just a little. She looked into his eyes, the same ones she'd known all these many years, and whispered a shaking plea. "Why did you do it, Hamish?"

"What do you want me to say, Eliza? I did it because I hate you? I did it because your instability is a burden? No, no, my dear, it's much more simple than that." He leaned forward and whispered into her ear.

"I did it because I could."

He let her go so unexpectedly, she dropped to the floor as he walked away. There he left her, her eyes burning and face hot as she tried to make herself understand.

* * *

The hospital halls had become familiar to her. So familiar, in fact, that Serena could have walked them blind. She knew certain nurses and doctors by name, and in return, they knew her too. She turned the corner to the familiar, plain room.

"How's our girl today?" Serena asked, walking into the hospital room as the nurse was stretching their Jane Doe's arms and legs.

"Still strong as ever. Found any family yet?" the Nurse asked.

"Not quite, but she's still a minor. Deputy's giving it another week or two before we move forward to declare her a ward of the state. Meantime, he's got it plastered all over the news, just in case she hitched a ride out here. We're exhausting all our options first." Serena stood over the girl looking down on her, the bruises healed, and only minor scars remained. Serena smiled.

"You got kids, Detective?" the Nurse asked.

"Nah. My husband and I were holding off on it. We always said we'd adopt. Too many kids in foster care need a good home."

"Why not take her then?"

It was an idea Serena liked immediately, but she tried to talk herself out of it. "We'll see." She leaned down to whisper in the girl's ear. "There's a whole world out there, honey. It's all waiting for you. All you gotta do is open them eyes." She stood up again. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Sara stood in the corner watching until the nurse left before she went to her body. "Wake up. Come on, you have to wake up. We're running out of time. Wake up!" She tried to grab herself, but her hands caught nothing. She let out a frustrated shriek and pounded a fist into her chest. Again, nothing. Sara closed her eyes, willing back tears. "Please wake up, please. Please wake up." She fell to her knees by the bedside, begging for something that wouldn't come.


	11. Episode 10: The Choosing

**March**

Choosing Day was the part of his job he liked the least. As chief Elder, he was responsible for not only drawing the name of the sacrifice, but reading it aloud and then administering last rites. Everyone assumed his job was the easy one, but it weighed on him much heavier than they were led to believe.

Condemning a person to die was not something he did lightly.

The morning of the Choosing, he sat in their bedroom meditating on the tradition. He understood what had prompted them to enact the ceremony in the first place; half of the population had died of starvation the winter before. It could not be allowed to happen again; another loss like that would cost far too much. So every year for nearly a century, they would give the God of the Harvest a blood sacrifice as payment for their prosperity.

Some harvests were weak, and some were more bountiful, but in the end they chalked it up to the amount of blood spilt. A child sacrifice guaranteed a weaker harvest, while a grown male guaranteed a bountiful one.

"You'd better go or you'll be late," Eliza said from the doorway.

He looked over his shoulder at her, taking in the sight of her. Her greyish complexion was slowly turning pink again. She refused to stay a night with him in the house, coming by in the morning to make certain his clothes were clean and that he'd have supper, but she never spoke to him, and left promptly at sunset for her mother's. The empty house at night was exactly what he'd wanted, but now that he had it, it wasn't what he thought. It felt strange. The house made weird noises, and he suffered a recurring nightmare where a young man stood over his bed telling him he would suffer.

But he looked at her, standing there in the doorway, staring him down. When had she aged so much? Her hair was streaked with silver in a place or two. She carried her tiredness in baggage around her eyes and the lines on her brow were deeper than they'd ever been from a permanent scowl. One he had put there. When she'd been unaware he'd wanted her dead. A mercy killing. But now that she knew, he felt...crooked.

"I'll be down in a moment," he spoke softly, waiting for her to leave before he stood.

She lingered there, her eyes bearing hatefully into the core of his being, and then she turned and left without word.

He looked down at his hands; two smooth, gray stones, nestled comfortably between the lines of his palm, a name etched into each.

Eliza Abbney.  
Sara Abbney.

He reached across the bed and stuck them under her pillow with care. It was the last measure of protection he could give her. At least one of those stones had not seen the inside of the oak box for fifteen years, the other had gone back and forth. They would never seen the inside of it again.

And when he called out a name today, he knew exactly who's name he would call.

* * *

Silence fell heavy around the clearing as they waited for Hamish to draw a stone. He looked and felt older than he ever had before, but looking out at Eliza he noticed the same about her. She was so thin and so pale, looking as if she might blow away at the slightest persuasion from the breeze, her hair was dull and brittle, fraying around her face outside of the bun she wore at the nape of her neck. The girl with stars glittering in her eyes was gone; he hadn't seen her smile-really smile-in years. It was a thing she had reserved for Sara and Sara alone.

That once happy girl had died long ago. It was his hand that swung the axe.

_'Oh my dear, what have I done?'_

Finally his fingers closed around a stone with a shape he'd studied for years. He held it in the palm of his hand without having to read it. He looked up and cleared his throat. "Hamish Abbney." He slipped the stone into the pocket of his shirt, watching something change in Eliza's eyes. Not the triumph he expected to see. Confusion. Detachment.

She pushed her way through the crowd until she was standing in front of him. "You can't do this."

He touched her cheek, a gesture that made her shiver. "I've done you wrong, my dear. You know it as well as I. Let me do the right thing."

"You don't deserve this," Eliza shook her head.

"Eliza, please."

"You deserve worse. You're a coward." His face fell.

Georgia touched her shoulder. "Leave him, he'll rot in an unmarked grave," she kept her voice low.

"I want people to know the truth," Eliza insisted, her voice drawing attention from the front of the crowd.

"What difference does it make?" Georgia asked.

"Every bit." Eliza broke her gaze with Hamish and looked out. "This man, who was supposed to be my husband and your leader, has been poisoning me for the last fifteen years."

A shocked whisper rippled through the clearing.

"Why should we believe you?" Cain asked, looking smug, but no one seemed to pay him mind.

"For God's sake, woman, let me do the right thing for once in my whole life," he begged,

"For all I know you drew Henry's name on purpose. You did, didn't you? You did it to drive me to madness! That's why no one has found her yet, isn't it? No one has found Sara because you don't want her to be found."

Murmurs echoed through the wood. "Eliza, come away," Georgia demanded, pulling her off the altar and onto the steps.

"Stack an extra slab on top. I want him to be unrecognizable when the Harvest God comes for him." In a moment of defiance, she spat at Hamish's feet.

Frank took Eliza by the shoulders and forced her back into the thick of the crowd that was now abuzz. Georgia held onto her, tight. "You shouldn't stay. Come, we'll both go back to the house."

"No," Eliza stopped, shaking Georgia off. "I will not be treated like glass any longer, mother." She watched Frank administer the last rites while the stone bearers hefted the slabs onto the altar where the lay in wait. The first one snapped his spine and neck with a crunch, the second one crushed his chest, and the third one smashed whatever might've been left. The only recognizable part of him was the single hand and wrist that poked out from under the first slab.

Eliza turned without Georgia's instruction and began the slow walk away before the closing and burial commenced. Georgia followed, picking up the pace.

"You shouldn't have stayed. You know what these things do to you."

Eliza remained silent, eyes ahead.

"You're going to be up all night."

"I think I'd like to be alone now, mother," Eliza whispered.

Georgia hesitated, but nodded as they approached the house. "I'll send your brother to be with you tonight."

Eliza acted as though she hadn't heard her at all and went into the house, closing the door behind her.

Inside, she went from room to room, pausing in the doorway. _Now what? _she thought, helpless. There remained nothing between her and the tick of the grandfather clock. No one to cook for, no one to clean for. Her laundry, her dishes, her mess, her garden. No more "they." No more "we." No more "ours." Just Eliza, singular.

Was she doomed to become the next Michael Eddleburn, then?

She sat on the stairs overlooking the kitchen. The loneliness crept up on her in inches, first in shaking breaths, then wringing her trembling hands. At its peak, she gasped for air, her eyes burning, rocking there on the step. Crumbling nerve by nerve.

"It would be better if you just came with me."

She looked behind where a young man stood, holding his hand out to her.

"Who are you?"

"I was waiting for Sara, but it can't wait anymore. Not now. It's not safe," he shook his head.

"Sara?" she echoed.

"Don't be afraid, mother." He got down on his knee beside her, touching a hand to her shoulder. "It will be better like this."

"Henry?" his name shook from her lips, an incredulous whisper.

"I promised Sara I would keep you safe until she could send help, but it's too late for that. Come with me, mother. It doesn't hurt. I'll stay with you the whole time." He offered his hand again.

She hesitated, a million questions racing through her mind, but she pushed them away. Her hand fit comfortably-gently-into his.

He led her. the weary lamb, to the linen closet upstairs. Henry and the rest of the world fell away as she pulled out a clean, white sheet and a small step stool. Eliza worked methodically, her mind running on autopilot as she tied the noose and then hung it.

And there she stood, looking down the empty hall where her children should have laughed and played. The empty hall whee dreams had come to die, where final goodbyes had been spoken.

It was over.

One foot hung over the edge of the stool for a half-second, eyes closed. Then, as the other one joined it, the front door opened downstairs.

"Eliza?" Jane called, wasting no time heading for the stairs. "Eliza?"

Sam was not far behind, but Jane was certainly the first to find her hanging there limply.

"Help me get her down," Jane barked, tugging at knots as she tried to hold her sister up. Sam slashed the sheet with a pocket knife and the sisters fell to the floor, Eliza with a raspy cough as she gasped for air. "Go get my mother, I'll stay with her." Jane propped Eliza up in her arms, rubbing her back as she continued to cough. "I have you. I have you, don't worry."

In shock and horror, Eliza simply cried.

* * *

"Well that was a plot twist," Cain drawled as he wandered into the barn. "Hamish Abbney, who'd have thought? Now did it seem to you like that was rehearsed, or was that just an ugly coincidence?"

Anna stood before Silas, clearly not paying attention while she flirted.

"Hello?" Cain snapped his fingers a few times to get their attention. "What now?"

With an agitated sigh, Anna turned. "Patience, brother. It's a virtue. I'm waiting on orders before I move forward with anything else."

"Oh really? Because it looks a lot like you're slacking on the job. Have we even determined a ratio yet?"

"I've got Silas on that," She smiled at him, her fingers running through his hair. They looked so smitten it was sickening. "Now go away, I have business to take care of."

"Never knew you to take a fascination with the phallic side of human nature," Cain muttered to himself in disgust. When it was clear they weren't going to stop, Cain marched forward and ripped her away by her hair. In one swift motion, he withdrew his hunting knife and stabbed down into her shoulder.

Her eyes widened in shock and for a moment it seemed she'd become completely human. Cain held her there for a minute, watching with delight, and it was as though they were poised to dance. She coughed, blood staining her teeth and lips. "They never should've trusted you to lead this mission."

The pitchfork came down swiftly through his back that its prongs stuck out from his ribs, dripping blood on his pinafore. The bare fraction of a second between realization and death was seen only by Anna as she slipped from his grasp.

With superhuman strength, Silas carried Cain away on the pitchfork like a bit of meat to roast over a fire and left him face down a few feet away before returning to Anna's side. "Did it hit anything?" He asked, holding her hand.

Her chest heaved. "Get rid of the body, I'll figure it out."

Not one to disobey, Silas did as he was bid, but not before watching her crawl into one of the stalls nearby first.

When he returned, he found her lifeless body slumped in a corner, the bloody hunting knife staining her white pinafore.

* * *

Serena sat by the girl's bedside, squeezing her hand. "I need you to wake up, baby. They're going to sign papers tomorrow that'll make you a ward of the state. They're gonna put you in storage if you don't wake up."

The tubes, save for the IV and feeding tube, had been removed. She looked like anyone else, just sleeping. In three months, it seemed she had come so far. That was the hard part for Serena. She brought her time with this girl home to James. Slowly, very slowly, she'd become attached, and Serena wasn't willing to allow the worst-case scenario.

Sara stood behind her, getting to know her better all the time. She had a husband, a home, a job. She sang beautifully and wanted to be a mother. Sara liked the woman.

"If you wake up, I promise you, I will take you home with me. We won't give up on finding your family."

_Mother, _Sara thought, sniffling. Was her mother even alright? Had they taken her by now? Had she made the wrong choice by telling the Undertaker to spare her? If she'd known three helpless months would have passed, her mind might have changed. But there was no room for that now. Her choice was made.

Sara sat on the edge of the bed as the woman talked in the chair on the other side. Homesick and heartbroken, she lay on her side on the spare inches of bed next to her body, crying. "_I want my mother. I want to go home," _she thought. It wasn't fair. How could trying to do the right thing grant her nothing but failure?

Something in the hallway turned bright. Curious, she stood, walking toward the door and eventually down the hall, unseen and unheard by any of the staff. At the end in a room full of chairs, the light shone bright through the window. She walked toward it, touched the cool glass, and then it felt like the air left her lungs.

Serena gently fixed the girl's long braid, draping it over her shoulder. The girl's chest swelled in shock as if she'd been doused with water, and finally, _finally, _her eyes opened.

* * *

"I should've stayed with her," Georgia muttered, pacing the length of the porch where they were gathered. Eliza had been sedated with the strongest tonic Georgia could mix and had it forced down her throat. She was sleeping upstairs while the others congregated on the porch.

"Don't blame yourself, mother," Jane reached for her hand. "It isn't your fault."

"It's a sin," Silas said quietly. "Suicide's against God's will." He was quiet for a moment and seemed to be thinking deeply about something. "What happens now? Is Lizzy going to die?"

Georgia gave an irate sigh. "No. No she is not, but this will be addressed when I have time to talk to the council." She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Mother, why don't you go home? Sam and I will stay with her tonight. Go home, get some rest, and we'll see you in the morning," Jane offered.

"No, no. You don't need to do that, she's not your responsibility."

"She's my sister. Of course she's my responsibility. Now you, and Silas go on home, I'm sure Anna's waiting with supper. Just for tonight, we'll figure the rest out in the morning."

After ten minutes more of argument, Georgia finally relented, and they left the porch for the Palmer house.

Inside, Jane fixed supper for herself and Sam, the two of them sitting at a foreign table.

"Why'd you tell her we'd stay the night?"

Jane set her fork down and stared at her plate for a moment. "She needs me. She needs_ us_. I've seen her in visions, Sam, and I can't let bad things happen to her."

"What bad things?"

"They will attack her. They're going to attempt to take her. I couldn't leave her alone."

"Who's they?"

"Them. The things that came."

It had become common talk between them. 'The things that came.' Sam sometimes believed her, based on her clarity of belief. Other times, he wasn't so sure.

* * *

Her eyes opened, glassy with a foggy film around the corners. She tested her limbs one by one, enough to know that she'd been restrained. Reality crept back to her in soft waves, the cottony haze peeled back one layer at a time. She noticed the room was dark and empty, and her jaw started to tremble.

The night air blew in from the window, ruffling the curtains.

"Oh wonderful, you're awake."

It was a voice more familiar than the sheet beneath her.

_Hamish._

She noticed him standing over her finally, her mind still thick with fog.

"Sweet little bird. I've been watching you." He stroked her cheek.

It came back to her. He was dead. Hamish was dead, she was supposed to be dead...where were they? What was going on? In a moment of panic, she tried unsuccessfully to get up and away, but the earth-shattering reality of the situation came screaming back.

"You tried to fly away from me today, but I won't let that happen again. I'm going to clip your wings. Please be still, it only hurts for a moment."

He seemed to hover over her for a moment, his face changing and bubbling until it revealed a splintered set of teeth. She screamed only once before he clamped a hand over her mouth, a long, sharp talon of a fingernail coming toward her forehead.

Down the hall the floorboards thundered.

In a blink he became something else entirely and slithered out through the open window, leaving her screaming and fighting as Sam and Jane burst into the room.

"What do I do?" Sam yelled over the noise.

"Keep her still while I get her out." Jane worked at the buckles while Sam attempted to soothe her, but as soon as she could, Eliza flew from the bed into the far corner away from the window.

"SHUT IT, SHUT THE WINDOW. BOARD IT."

Jane grabbed her wrists, holding her tight for fear she'd hurt herself. "Lizzy, listen to me, follow my voice."

Sam closed and locked the window, staring outside in search of whatever had upset his sister-in-law.

"Eliza, you have to breathe."

"Why did you take away the curtains? Why would you take them off?"

"What curtains? We never..."

Sure enough, the drapes were missing from the window. A survey of the other rooms found those missing too. Like awestruck mice, they went to each room to find the curtains were missing and the windows unlocked and open a crack-the same length of space every time-as if it had been planned.

Jane threw blankets over the windows in the living room to calm her sister down while she and Sam discussed a course of action.

"We can't stay here tonight. I don't know where we're going, but we can't stay here," Jane insisted.

"What are we going to do, take her out in the dead of night? What makes you think whatever got her shook up won't be out there waiting?"

Jane gave a sigh and looked over to Eliza who rocked herself beneath a quilt. "You're right. But we all sleep down here. And we take shifts. Tomorrow she'll come stay with us."

Sam nodded in agreement and went to the back door for Hamish's hunting rifle and the extre amunition. When he returned, Jane went uptairs to the linen closet and each bedroom, grabbing pillows and blankets with a knife concealed up her sleeve. He agreed to take the first watch as Jane made up a bed for she and Eliza on the floor. When all that remained was the dying light of the fireplace, they wiggled under the blankets and said their prayers, hoping the night would stay quiet.

Eliza and Jane fell asleep with arms wrapped tight around each other.

* * *

The last of the snow melted from the field the next day. It was almost unseasonably warm for March, but the beauty of it was that soon there would be a planting day. The grave site where they buried Hamish Abbney the day before was the usual, unmistakable mound. It drew no attention.

What did, however, was the strange and inexplicable tuft of white toward the middle of the field. Abe went to it, flanked by two other men. As the distance between them and the thing closed, it became obvious.

Red hair, a white pinafore soiled with dirt and, at the shoulder, blood. The body looked peaceful laying there, but the truth was obvious. She was dead.

Abe carried her back to her house, her body stiff and heavy.

Abberline's reaction was appropriate. A scream of horror that roused at least the next three houses, including Michael Eddleburn.

He stumbled out onto his porch and looked over, without getting too close, he knew what happened exactly. "Well shit," he sent a glob of spit flying from the corner of his mouth, his brow knitted. It was worse than the other ones they'd found. The others, he knew, had been stripped of skin and decapitated. They were nameless and as such easy to forget about. Easy to ignore. But this was one of their own and she was dead.

Silas came running; the display between he and Abberline was somewhat melodramatic, given the circumstances, but immediately everyone took to the church. Even without their fearless leader, the emotional toll of the week had consumed them.

The greater question now was: who did they trust?

* * *

She seemed not to remember anything that had happened before. She had no idea where she was or what had put her there in the first place, but she was determined and skittish. First, she attempted to pull the feeding tube from her nose until Serena stopped her and held her hands until she settled down. And then she began to pick at the tape around the catheter in her hand.

"A nurse is gonna come in here and take it all out, baby. Be still, it's alright. Nobody's here to hurt you." She relaxed a little, still tense, but not as nervous as before. Serena continued. "I'm glad you're awake." The woman's voice was deep and made Sara jump a little. "Don't be afraid. I just want to know your name."

The first thing she noticed was that her skin was dark, and in fact she stared for a minute, unsure of what was going on. The machine beside her beeped and startled her.

"You have one, don't you?" Serena asked again, calling her back, but Sara couldn't form a coherent response. "Alright, fine," she decided after a moment. "You know where you are?"

Sara blinked, the lights around her seeming so bright. "No," she whispered.

"So you do talk."

Sara shrank into the pillows.

"You're at Charles Cole Memorial Hospital. D'you live in Grove? That's where you were before your accident."

The more Serena spoke, the wider Sara's eyes got. "Too many questions? Sorry, I just want to know your name, that's all. You're not in any kind of trouble." The woman scooted her chair forward. "How about I go first? Detective Serena McKee. You can call me Serena, but only if you share your name with me."

Reluctantly she looked into her lap. "Sara."

"Sara What?"

"Just Sara," she lied, swallowing.

"Alright, Just Sara, where you from?" Serena's voice softened, glad to make progress.

The girl shook her head and refused to look at Serena. She folded herself up, biting at her lips.

"You don't know or you can't remember?"

Sara heaved a chopping breath in, shuddering as the tears came. "What've I done?" she cried, her face buried in her arms and knees.

Serena grimmaced. She'd come across too many kids who were hardened and reluctant in the face of such questions, but Sara crumbled. Something about her was not run-of-the-mill. She pressed a warm hand to the girl's shoulder, but she inched away.

"I want my mother," she squeaked out.

"Tell me where she is and I'll bring her to you, alright?"

Sara shook her head. "I c-can't."

The nurse entered with a glass of water and gentle hands to rid her of the tubes. After, they helped her up to take a walk around the hall.

The silence between she and Serena was heavy and dark, mingled with frustration and sadness.

"Tell me about your mom. About where you're from." Serena said eventually, hoping a new tactic would work to her favor.

Sara gave her a fearful glance and looked down, silent for a while.

"Come on, what's your favorite part about home? You have one, right?"

She sighed, at once looking tired. "In the spring. My favorite part is after the Choosing when all the corn is planted and it rains and the stalks start to grow. Leaves on the trees start blooming, the gardens start cropping up," she walked to the window in a waiting room and looked out. "I like the cloudy days and thunder at night. Stars you can see for miles in the summer." Recounting it all made her lonely. She sighed.

"And your mom?"

Sara said nothing at first, but her eyes became glassy and her chin wobbled. "My mother..." a sharp breath in. "I left her...oh god, I just left her, how could I do that?" She crumpled into a chair beside the window.

"Hey," Serena sank into the chair beside her. "We'll find your mom. I promise."

"You can't. You won't."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't tell you where she is. I don't know the way and I couldn't tell you if I wanted to."

"Why not?"

"They'd know I told. And then they'd kill me."


	12. Episode 11: Nowhere to Hide

He stood in the church doorway, looking out at the moon. He could see them coming in a slow trickle by the light of torches, like firebright stars on the path.

Like _home_. He thought.

How many lightyears away was it? How long had they even been gone? He could no longer recall...

Silas joined him, looking out. "I don't understand why you had to inherit _him_ and not another host."

"You're only angry because this one is old and wrinkly. Don't be a spoil sport about it."

"They're never gonna buy it, you know that right?" Silas turned, his left nostril flaring in agitation. "How do you think that's gonna go over with 'em when they find out?"

"They will herald him like a god, and as I've said before I will not have anyone, not even you, questioning me." Hamish hooked a claw in the tender flesh just beyond the bone of his chin, threatening to unzip the human covering from him like a coat.

Silas tore his face away, the claw nicking his chin, but he paid no mind to the tiny river of blood dribbling toward his Adam's apple.

"Hey," Hamish caught his face gruffly. "You know I love you no matter what." He pulled the younger man closer into a kiss.

Relenting, Silas' shoulders sagged. "Yes. Yes I do. You know I'll stand by your side no matter what you look like."

The pair of them went to the altar where the real Hamish had once taken to delivering the weekly sermon to which everyone seemed tightly tethered to. A connection to a God was something their race had always found fascinating, but could not understand why. Part of the mission had been to decipher it, but Silas didn't believe they had. "What happens after the take over?" Silas asked. "Once it's done and we've obliterated these people. What next?"

"They will come and tell us," Hamish said softly before the first ritual patron entered.

Once everyone had filed in, it began. Silas counted heads while Hamish spoke.

"My comrades, I wish to congratulate you on our success thus far. It has not all been so simple as it was made to seem, but we have learned more and more from these homo sapiens with each passing day. I have all the confidence that they are just as pleased as I am."

There was a pleased murmur that rippled through the pews. Someone's hand shot up.

"Yes?" Hamish asked, Silas caught the slightest hint of taut annoyance in his tone.

"That husk's the one they stoned. What will you do when they find out he isn't dead?"

Hamish stared the man down and for a moment it seemed uncertain whether Hamish would take his head off or leave him, but there was no time to answer.

"What in **God's **name is going on here?!" Georgia stood in the doorway, her nightdress covered by a brown, weedy colored shawl. She walked the length of the aisle, looking at the faces of people she had known for entire lifetimes. They looked at her in turn as if she were an unwelcome visitor trespassing on a sacred vigil.

Her eyes then wandered to the altar where Hamish stood and she froze. Sentences scarcely formed came in stuttering bursts from her incredulous mouth that could not have made a coherent thought if they tried.

Hamish stood smiling calmly for a moment, and then in a warped ripple, he seemed to rush right at her, but he no longer looked like Hamish. Instead he looked like her mirror reflection, her smile a jagged mess of teeth.

A scream broke out echoing from the walls of the church before one single claw pierced her larynx and forced her into gasping, choking silence. He snapped her lower jaw down until it hung loose like a hinge flapping against her bleeding neck before he reached in and ripped her tongue cleanly from her throat. She blinked in shock, grabbing for her throat as Hamish reappeared before her. Like the pin on a grenade, the claw receded from whence it came, and Georgia fell back, hitting the floor with a thud and a wet, rasping breath in. Her mouth was permanently frozen in a scream.

The face of the son she'd brought into the world stood over her, looking down on her helpless struggling, and in one swift movement, twisted her head on her neck at a hundred and eighty degree angle before dislodging it swiftly from atop her shoulders. He held it gingerly, the opening bleeding over his hands and down his shirt as he made his way back to the altar to stand beside Hamish.

As though it were a cue, his brothers and sisters descended on the corpse, fighting each other to strip it of flesh and organs. He and Hamish exchanged calm smiles before turning to watch as the corpse of Georgia Palmer became totally unrecognizable.

* * *

**1918**

"Dorian, come quick, we need your help."

He hesitated for only a moment, looking to his wife, before he forced the shovel into the garden plot. He followed after Abner into the fields where three other men stood, one holding a horse steady by the reins. Behind them at the seed drill, Lawrence had obviously gotten his leg caught and the drill had been removed already. He was pale, sweating, and breathless.

"What 'm I supposed to do?" Dorian asked, stooping low.

"You got more experience than the rest of us at this. What's it look like?"

He got closer and observed it. "Probably gonna git gangrene. Nasty stuff."

"What then?"

"Either gotta cut it off or let it rot. Gonna die either way."

"Kill me, put me out of my misery I don't want it!" Lawrence grabbed his shirt in his sweaty grasp.

"Got a point. Cut off his leg and he's useless as he is dead."

Someone offered Dorian the rifle, startling him to his feet. "Hey man, why do I have to be the one?"

"You're the undertaker, aren't ya? You deal with the dead..."

Lawrence nodded. "Do it, do it. Right between the eyes nice and quick."

"What about your wife? Your kids?" Dorian asked. "You got a family."

"She'll understand, please. You have to. I can't become a burden for her. If I'm not gonna be able to pull my weight here, then I'd rather be dead."

Dorian hesitated, conflicted. There were a million reasons, he knew, why he shouldn't give in, but Lawrence had a point. He'd be dependent on his wife and children, doomed to never fulfill a purpose again. Not here. He gave one solemn nod, averting his eyes. Abner clapped his shoulder as he stood up again.

"Leave you to it, then, eh?" The others dispersed, leaving Dorian with only a rifle in one hand and a bullet in the other.

Lawrence was breathing a little faster, shivering in the summer heat. His calf was mangled. Dorian loaded the bullet into the chamber of the gun and lined up his shot.

"Thank you."

Those were the man's last words. But Dorian would never forget what it was like to hold a man's life in his hands in the moments before it died out.

* * *

**PRESENT**

Sara had declined to speak any further after the previous day. Whatever trust she'd placed in Serena had been quickly rescinded on the premise of knowing nothing. The nurse told the Detective that she hadn't spoken to anyone. They'd spent the morning moving her from the ICU to Pediatrics, which she seemed even more unsure of, but when Serena arrived, Sara was sitting in the day room with a little boy of about five years old. He was telling her a story that made her smile and laugh until she noticed Serena's watchful eye.

Sara dismissed herself with a whisper and left the room, Serena following behind.

"You ready to tell me where your mom is?"

Sara said nothing, entering the hospital room to sit by herself. The camera and bag they'd found on her person the night of the accident sat on a table beside the bed, its cracked lens winking at Serena in the sunlight as she passed to the other side of the room.

"You don't wanna talk today?"

Sara looked into her lap. "Nothing to talk about."

"That's not true. Tell me about you."

She gave Serena a look she'd seen a million times on other kids. Kids who wouldn't let her in willingly.

"Got any brothers and sisters? Got one of each, myself."

"My brother died."

Serena felt a sharp pang of regret, but rested a hand on Sara's shoulder. "I'm so sorry... Were you close?"

"Never met him. He was born four years before me. Died when he was a year." Sara wouldn't mention that she'd been reunited with him in the attic. She was sure that even in the outside, madness was not a trait anyone prized. People had been killed for it. Her mother had probably been killed for it. She felt a stab of regret, her chest feeling tight again.

"How'd he die?" Serena asked, knowing all the while the question was inappropriate, but unable to stop her.

Sara looked at her reluctantly through a curtain of hair. "You wouldn't understand." She shifted herself away from Serena's touch.

"I'd like to take you home with me, Sara," Serena hesitantly rested a hand on her shoulder.

"What if I don't want to?"

"I don't think you understand how this works," Serena said, feeling impatient and chided. "You have to go somewhere. You don't just stay here. So either you come with the devil you know or they stick you someplace else with someone a lot meaner than me."

Sara turned to look at her wild-eyed.

Serena sighed and began to try again. "I know you don't trust me and you have every reason not to. I'm a stranger to you. You've been through a lot. But I promise you, Sara. I just wanna keep you safe until we can get you back with your family. Okay?"

"They told us you'd be monsters. All of you."

"Do I look like a monster to you?" Serena asked, but when Sara responded only with an expressionless stare, she made a face that caused Sara to jerk away. Serena laughed. "The look on your face! Oh, honey sit down I was kidding."

Sara scowled, her arms folded across her chest as she stood in the corner, refusing to move.

"What?" Serena asked. "C'mon, why won't you open up?"

"You're disrespectful," Sara launched in as if she'd been planning what she was going to say. "You pry into my head with your intrusive demands and you treat me like I'm less of a person than you when I don't want to talk to you. You mock me for your amusement. I'm not a game for you to figure out and play along. I'm a person! Where I come from I'm treated like a grown woman. They send me in to tend the sick. Where I come from, I've seen more in fifteen years than you will ever see in your whole life. I wanted to believe the people I came from were wrong, but they were right. Your kind are corrupt. Barbarians. Just like they said you would be."

Serena didn't know how to respond. She sat there, mouth agape, trying to form words that wouldn't come.

"What is going on in here?" a nurse was standing in the doorway. When she received no answer, she turned to Sara. "There's someone who would like to talk to you, sweetheart. Follow me."

Sara did as she was told, taking the camera from the table and giving Serena one last scathing glare as she moved from the room.

* * *

Sam looked over at her sitting on the edge of the bed in her cotton slip, pulling on a pair of thin wool socks. She turned back to look at him as he pulled the undershirt over his head, both of them exchanging a slight smile. He sat on the opposite side of the bed to button his shirt.

"How will we get out of here?" Jane asked in a cautious whisper.

"We'll find a way. I don't know how, but we will. We'll take horses or something." Sam slipped a foot into his boot and laced it up.

Jane looked out the window, the treeline at the furthest end of the compound, a headache forming behind her right eye. The light seemed brighter than it had a minute ago; she pressed her fingers into the soft flesh near her sinus in hopes that it would relieve the tension. Instead, it sparked a low, static humming. "Do you hear that?" she asked, static crackling in her ears as the migraine worked its way toward her other eye. Her head dropped into her hand as she stilled herself against the bedpost.

"Are you alright?"

A loud popping burst exploded in her ears and at once intensified the onset of pain.

"Jane? Jane talk to me."

Her head lolled back as he turned himself to hold her just before the nosebleed began. He pressed the wadded hem of his shirt up against her nose trying to keep her still before the shaking set in.

She was walking down the lane again, at night. No stars nor a sliver of the moon illuminated the walk, and the silence felt more heavy than peaceful. No candles kept vigil in the windows of homes, and the curtains were gone. Just inside the windows, she could see vague, smiling silhouettes watching her with remarkable focus. Her foot slid on something slick and she struggled to regain balance. Finally steady in where she stood, she looked down to see that the path was slick with something viscous. She crouched, dipping her fingertips in it and squinting to see. It was dark until she smudged her thumb across it and the muddy color turned red.

She looked down the path and saw nothing but carnage. Bodies ripped in two or further dismembered, but the sight that caught her eye was Eliza swaying in a tree by her intestines. She scarcely had time to process the sight when she heard the unmistakable clicking from behind.

"Dorian?" she whispered, fear creeping into her tone. No answer. "Sam?" The clicking got louder. "Mother?" She turned slowly fearing whatever was behind her. Before she could get a clear look through the darkness, it tugged her down, knocking the wind from her lungs as she bit her tongue. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth as she reached for anything within grasp that might save her, but there was nothing. Without warning her leg was snapped sharply in the wrong direction her scream pierced the clicking and the low buzzing hum that had begun to make her temples throb.

One claw hushed her screams to whimpering and her throat was violently slashed into silence.

Brightness closed around her as she took a gasping breath, the room becoming more familiar by inches. Sam was still cradling her in his arms, but Eliza and Silas stood over her too.

"Don't move, sweetheart. Just lay still for a minute."

Her eyes fluttered until they fell closed again. "Jane stay with me." He tapped her face to keep her conscious. "You stopped breathing before. It was lucky Eliza acted so quickly."

"Get him...out of here," she whispered.

Sam misunderstood and sent them both away.

"No, no you can't...bring her back, it's not sa-safe."

"Here you are, sweetheart, drink this it'll make you better," Georgia stood beside her with an amber colored glass. She met Georgia's eyes for a split second and forced herself upright, if slowly.

"No...I'll be alright. I don't need it. I'm fine. I'll be okay. C-could you send Eliza back in? I want to thank her."

Georgia nodded with a smile. Sam gave her a look of confusion but she wouldn't give him an answer for it.

Eliza came back in with a cold towel and a bowl of water and shut the door, sitting at the bedside to dab the blood from Jane's face.

"Sam, you can't leave her alone with them."

"What's going on? What are you talking about."

"Their eyes. Both of them. All of them. I've just realized. They don't reflect." Eliza and Sam exchanged a glance of nervousness.

Outside the door, Georgia stood a few feet back. "They've figured us out."

"What do we do now?" Silas asked.

"We wait."

* * *

Serena stood outside the room, watching from behind a pane of mirror glass. Sara was too old for a room like the one she was presently seated in. The fact that her knees were nearly pressed to her chest as she sat in a child-sized chair was a good indication of that fact, but because she'd given little information about her background, they went on in the pediatrics division instead of questioning her outright.

She fiddled with the camera in her lap, avoiding eye contact, but answering every question he threw at her.

"What are your parents' names, Sara?"

"Eliza and Hamish. My grandmother's name is Georgia, and my brother's name was Henry." She played with the lens in the camera, adjusting its focus even though it didn't turn on.

"And where do you live?"

Sara shrugged one shoulder, continuing to fumble with the lens.

"Could you describe it for me?"

"There's a field. Mountains and woods." She offered another indifferent shrug.

"Your camera seems to be broken," he offered. "Might I have a look? Maybe I can fix it."

Sara seemed mistrustful at first but handed it to him, watching eagerly to see what he'd do to it. He pushed the power button and it emitted a low buzzing noise and a chime before turning itself off again. "There's your problem. The battery is dead."

"Dead?" Sara's brow wrinkled in worry. "Can you bring it back?"

He looked it over. "The child life specialists might have something that will. We can ask them later." He gave it back and she smiled, holding it carefully.

"Now. Why don't you tell me where I can find your family? I'm sure they miss you terribly."

Sara's face fell. "They're probably dead by now. It's too late."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's hard to explain."

"Take it slow then."

Sara shook her head.

"Well there has to be someone we can call for you."

Sara thought for a moment. "James Kasenberg."

Outside the room, Serena's jaw was on the floor.

* * *

**1954**

Their abducted specimen screamed and thrashed on table against the restraints. He begged to be let go, all of the usual things they'd grown accustomed to hearing during these experiments. "You won't remember," they assured him.

The subject of their studies? Duncan Marshall, father of five and husband. He was specifically chosen for the task; they wanted to know how he parented his children and what made him a good husband to his wife. It was crucial to their research to understand the way the humans' lives worked. They subdued him again and waited for his speech to become sluggish and his movements gradually more calm. He resisted again, but less fervently, when they cut a small incision in the side of his neck and planted a chip inside of it. After ensuring that the chip was working, they set him free, his memory wiped clean.

But some part of him knew and knew well what had happened. May blamed the reason for his waking in the garden in the middle of the night on sleepwalking, but he was never completely convinced of it himself. As time went on, he became gradually more violent and hostile, claiming he could hear a low buzzing in his ears at night and felt as if there was something crawling on him at all times. Some of this abated when their sixth and final child, Frank, was born.

Duncan seemed to swing from one extreme to the other. Irritable in the best of times, downright hostile in the worst. May kept the children in the house as little as possible, displacing them with her sister or mother whenever she could, but then he would accuse her of keeping his own children from him.

A year later, things had only worsened and none of them could leave the house. The children were to be out of sight and quiet nearly all of the time, but in the next room over, they could distinctly hear him beating their mother. Things came to a hilt one night when Duncan had come completely unhinged.

Frank was crying in his mother's arms in the furthest room down the hall. That was the straw that had broken the camel's back.

Duncan waltzed into the girls' bedroom and fired four bullets. One into little Abigail's head between the eyes, one into the back of Thomas' head as he tried to scramble beneath the bed. The third hit young Eleanor between the shoulders. Last, he turned to Violet, his second to youngest daughter, who cried and begged him in hysterics not to. He shot her in the eye. Quick deaths, he assured himself. He'd been merciful.

He went down the hall where the baby was now howling, mother shaking in fear. Duncan kicked the door in.

May was holding the boy in the rocking chair, begging him feverishly to leave the house. Just to get some fresh air. He had cabin fever, she insisted. He fired another round into her head.

He loaded another bullet into his rifle and approached the baby. "Better you don't see what a shithole we live in." He raised his gun and squared it with the baby's temple.

A shot rang out.

Duncan fell forward with a muffled thud. Behind him, his oldest son Abraham, stood with his rifle still smoking, eyes burning. He gave himself a moment to break down, rubbing his eyes before he collected himself and took Frank out of their mother's lifeless arms. "It's okay, Frankie. I'm here. I'm always gonna be here to keep you safe."

* * *

"She gave you _my _name?" James asked, heading down the hall beside Serena.

"She did. What I wanna know is: why's this pretty little white girl nobody asking for MY husband?"

James shrugged. "You ask me like I have any idea why she'd say that. I have no idea." He couldn't tell her how Sara knew him. He'd sworn to say nothing in exchange for his life.

Sara got to her feet as they came to the door. James froze, the two of them staring in unexplained silence.

"You wanna tell me how you know him?" Serena asked.

"You're here," Sara whispered reverently. "You're here," her jaw quivered and her eyes watered as she slumped back onto the bed.

"What happened?" James asked.

"They started killing us off one by one, it's horrible. I had to get out and find you."

"You're lucky they let you get away- Is that..." he gestured to the camera.

"It is. I saved it. There's a picture on it, but the man said it was dead."

James slid his briefcase onto the table and removed a laptop and a number of cords from it, powering the thing up.

"I expect it would be, it's powered with a battery."

"A what?"

"Will somebody explain to me what the _hell _is going on here?"

They both turned to look at Serena. James looked to Sara for her approval. "You tell her. She'll understand it from you."

James stood up and approached Serena. "Do you remember that day last fall I said I was going to go get the story on that crop circle they found?"

Serena nodded, trying to follow. "It led us to a village. It's gotta be the best kept secret in the whole damn state, Serena. Finding an entrance into the place was nearly impossible." She didn't respond, leaving him the floor to continue. "They killed Paul. I said I dropped him off and they figured he must've gone missing, but they killed him and they threatened to kill me too."

"And you?" Serena asked, looking to Sara with a newfound sense of hesitation.

"No. No I never meant to hurt anyone. I came because they needed help and he is the _only_ person who could help me."

James went back to the computer and ejected a memory card from the camera's slot, plugging it into his computer. Navigating through a series of screens he clicked through the pictures.

"THERE! That one. That's the one," Sara jabbed at the computer screen, waiting for it to load.

When it finally did, Serena gasped.

"They invaded. The minute you showed up-the first time you came for that thing in the corn. That's when it all happened. They've been taking people ever since."

"Did your mother send you with this?" James asked.

Sara shook her head. "I decided to get help on my own."

"Is there any chance your mother could still be...?"

"I don't know, but I need you to find out."

"Why can't you?"

"I left, it's punishable by death. You'll get away in that big black thing of yours. I won't be fast enough on foot. I need your help. Please. If she's still alive, my mother needs your help."

"You left your family to find them help?" Serena asked, dropping onto the bed. Sara nodded. Serena reached out and took her hand. "That was so brave of you."

Sara smiled sadly. "You do what you have to for family."


	13. Episode 12: I Want to Believe

**FIVE YEARS LATER**

They'd deflected from the city ages ago. They were a small troupe, not much worth bragging about, but damn if they weren't lucky. Addie crept along beside Luke through the woods. It was better to stay hidden if possible and the trees provided a nice cover. But as the group moved on, the trees became thinner and thinner until the indentation of a former road began to emerge.

The trees opened up onto a field nearly an arena in size and shape. Flanked in an incongruent shape by a fence of trees. They'd emerged from the foothills of a mountain onto a large, overgrown field. Luke moved forward, leading the team along. It seemed to end abruptly into a single dirt lane, the grass in the ditches was dry from drought.

He didn't like them being out in the open, especially not knowing where the road came from, or where it led to, but ever the brave leader, Luke swallowed his fears and led them along the path.

They came upon houses that, upon closer inspection, had been raided and looted long ago-anything of real worth cleared from the premises. The glass panes in windows were covered in a thick layer of dirt, some of them broken. The paint on the wood siding was stripping away, doors left ajar, as if everyone had disbanded immediately and without more than a moment's notice. He crouched in the wreckage, shuffling through debris until he realized he held a painted portrait of a family-a mother with a baby on her hip, two girls in front of her, and a man in a chair. The brush strokes showed a great talent, but it seemed that whoever had painted it clearly hadn't gotten the chance to show their skills to the world. This place-all of it-was a physical representation of loneliness and emptiness. It unnerved him and made him wish for his mother and brother, but they were gone now. Taken.

"Luke," Addie appeared in the doorway. "You should come see this."

The group headed down the path once again near another cloistering thicket of trees. His foot caught in something and he nearly tripped.

It was the open mouth of a skull. The toe of his shoe had gotten caught in the open mouth of a human skull.

He backed up suddenly, the arch of his foot rolling on another object as he hit the ground. And then he noticed what he was walking on.

The lane was cobbled with an inconsistent mess of bones. Teeth, skulls, rib cages that had long been shattered.

Addie helped him up.

"We're not staying," he announced. "Place gives me the creeps."

Up high in the trees, a figure with black wings like a raven's watched on, unheard and unseen.

* * *

The wheat field from the kitchen window was placid and the house was still. She reveled in the quiet and calmness, feeling alright for a change-or some semblance of the word. It was blissful. Her mother wasn't harping on her for standing in the kitchen, she felt rested, and all in her home seemed right as it should.

She was drawn outside by the wheat field that seemed to beckon like fingers, calling her out to hear whatever secrets they desired to whisper into her ear. Eliza found she wished to hear whatever it was they had to say and wandered out. Hearing the cries of a small child she wandered out until she found him-a boy of six with dark hair and big, brown doe's eyes brimming with tears. Something seemed strange about those eyes, but she dismissed it. He held his arms up for her to pick him up and she obliged him without hesitation, cooing to him in a soothing murmur of a voice. She cuddled him into her arms, his legs wrapped around her waist and face buried into her hair. He whispered in her ear, things she couldn't comprehend, but she rubbed his back and soothed him still all the way back to the house.

Placing him on the kitchen counter, she checked him over and found a scraped knee, but little else. She applied a salve and bandage with a kiss and offered him a cookie for his trouble before she turned her back, humming as she poured milk for him and tea for herself. She turned with both drinks to see that a boy no longer sat in the chair.

The likeness of herself did.

The glass of milk dropped to the floor and shattered, along with the teacup. The doppleganger smiled coyly-wickedly-and it made her stomach turn. For a moment time was frozen and then it stood, continually growing until its back pressed the ceiling. It stood hunched over her, face changed to a skeletal structure covered with a waxen purple-gray skin. Its teeth dripped, the smile hungrier than before. Finally she screamed as it reached for her with a swipe. Something from behind grabbed her shoulder and shook it roughly.

She woke to the light of day, screaming and covered in sweat, Henry standing over her shaking her. "Mother...Mother! Shhh...you mustn't. You have to be-"

The bedroom door flung wide open as if it were acting of its own accord. Her mother stood in the doorway, staring down at her with those eyes that were so strange. It was her mother's face she saw, but it was not her mother and she was certain. Whomever had replaced her, the doppleganger was of no likeness in personality. She was malicious. Forceful. All of the things Georgia had been, but it wasn't the same.

Henry had vanished.

"JANE?!" Eliza shrieked her sister's name over and over again, her voice growing hoarse as Georgia approached her.

Georgia pressed a hand over her mouth. "If you don't stop screaming, I will smother the goddamn life out of you."

"Eliza? Mother-what's going on, are you alright?" Jane entered the room and went immediately to the bedside where she removed her sister's restraints.

Taking quiet stock of her surroundings, Eliza shuddered. "Nightmare...Yes. I think so."

"Honestly..." Georgia scoffed.

"It's alright, mother. I have her now. Let's go for a walk in the garden. You can help me plant some things." Jane waited for Georgia to wave a careless hand before she grabbed some clothing from the drawers. The two of them spoke in hushed whispers.

"Don't leave me here with her, you can't..." Eliza begged.

"I won't. I promise I won't. We're getting out of here, Sam and I just need to finish the plans. We think one of his brothers was taken too."

Things grew even more solemn as Eliza finished dressing and put her shoes on. "We can't waste anymore time. We have to leave if we're going."

"It's not safe," Jane sighed.

"It won't ever be," Eliza said. "But I would rather die trying than wait any longer."

* * *

The night before her dreams were filled with riding in cars, her head out the window, hair blowing wild in the breeze with the sun on her face. At first she'd been afraid of it, but she found it exhilarating. So much so that she'd pushed herself halfway up and out and Serena had to reach to keep her inside. "Do you have a death wish?" she asked, rolling the window most of the way up and locking it. James, to his credit, laughed.

She also dreamed of strange screens and things that played loud music. Everything had buttons, all of them tempting. Her mother would've been scared by it, but she delighted in it. In exploring this weird and unknowable place.

She woke in the guest room, acutely aware of the forget-me-not blue comforter's softness and the butter yellow walls. She didn't care much for the pajamas-a pair of plaid trousers Serena loaned her that were too long and wide in the leg and had to be cinched tight to stay up, and a loose, short sleeved shirt like the ones men she knew wore under button-up shirts on Sundays. Sara pulled the pants up a bit higher, missing her old nightgowns as she shuffled out to the hall. To the right, she heard voices, and wandered in that direction.

The walls were lined with pictures of Serena and James; some of Serena in a flowing white gown, kissing James who looked dressed to the nines. Sara had never seen anything like it. Other pictures were of relatives and times gone by, but it was clear they never had children. She turned away from the smiling, laughing, kissing faces and made her way into the kitchen.

Any conversation that had been ongoing before she entered changed to silence and alienating stares until Serena broke out into a broad smile. "Good morning! How did you sleep?"

She gave a slight shrug. "Fine," she answered in an awkward effort to be polite. Sara had been so tired the night before that she'd all but collapsed into bed right after dinner, for which she'd been starving. But beyond a murmur of thanks, she'd barely spoken a word. She sank into a kitchen chair, hesitantly reaching for milk and scrambled eggs. She ate with more hesitation, aware that they were watching all the while as she nibbled self-consciously.

"I was thinking we might go out today. Shop a bit, find you new clothes. What do you say?" Serena asked. The question was met with a deer-in-headlights look of confusion. "What? Why're you lookin' at me like you never been out shopping before?"

Sara averted her eyes, embarrassed. "We don't...we don't do that."

"How do you get your clothes?"

"My mother made some of them, some she wore as a girl that my grandmother made."

"By hand?"

"Yes, of course," Sara nodded, feeling both proud and confused. "Didn't your mother make yours?"

"Oh my god."

"Wh-what? What is shopping?" Sara asked, shrinking into herself.

Serena looked to James in incredulity and then back at Sara. "Go get yourself dressed, honey. We got a long day ahead of us."

* * *

Jane had taken Eliza on a walk before lunch while he worked to till Eliza's garden. The greenhouse hadn't been completely fixed since the riots and would need help eventually too, but he figured it was best to accomplish all of one task instead of getting both only half done. It was a breezy spring day and he felt convinced the harvest this year would thrive, if anyone bothered to tend it.

Wiping his brow, Sam staked his shovel down in a corner of the garden plot and went into the greenhouse to find a trowel or spade that might help him weed some of the old crop out. By the state of things, it had been a wonder that the Abbneys had even survived the winter. The plants in the drafty, broken greenhouse were dead, their half-grown remnants withered and shriveled in their pots. A few pots were broken on the floor, but something else under the table caught his eye.

He pulled it from under the table into the light, but promptly dropped it and backed away when he realized what it was.

It had six arms, a long and thin torso, two lanky legs like poles, and a head with no describable shape. The clawed fingers of its hands were limp now, but at least two of them had attempted to pull a pair of garden shears from its eye where they were firmly lodged. Its skin was dark with rot and brittle like a husk as if whatever skeleton had been inside had simply crawled out. Disgusted, he covered it with a drop cloth and emerged into the open air, lighting a fire in the pit behind the house.

He dragged the entire thing out into the open and tossed it on the fire. The cloth caught quickly, eaten by the flame in mere seconds, but as the flesh of the creature began to burn away, the smell turned pungent and the flames turned a purplish blue. He backed away, coughing, turning toward the garden.

"Find some wood that wasn't soaked?" Georgia answered, standing at the back door. She seemed to watch him with eyes that knew something he didn't.

"Most of it's pretty dry now," he forced an easy smile.

"What're you burning? It smells ghastly." She covered her mouth and nose with a kitchen towel.

"Pulled some stuff from the greenhouse. Underbrush and the like. Might've been fertilizer in some of it," he lied.

She narrowed her eyes to the burning silhouette in the flames as if she were going to call him out on his bluff but instead she nodded. "Thank you." She went inside and closed the door.

He went back to clearing up the greenhouse, too afraid to turn his back for fear she might try something. Jane had told him Eliza didn't trust her anymore. She didn't either. Perhaps it was two suspicious women rubbing off on him, but he didn't believe either of them had the reason or motive to lie. Now he felt sure of it.

He made trips back and forth between the greenhouse and the fire pit, always sure of the pocket in his trousers where a hunting knife sat comfortably in wait. An hour later, the greenhouse was cleaned and he was raking through the overturned garden plot as Jane came back around the side of the house.

"Where's your sister," he asked, checking her eyes first as she'd told him to do and then giving her a kiss.

"Left her on the porch. She's not doing well. We need to leave, Sam. It has to be now or never."

"I agree."

"Everywhere we went, Sam, it was like they knew we weren't one of them. It's like they were watching us."

"I know. I think they got your mother too. Did you notice?"

"She's been strange to Eliza... I don't know how much longer she can last."

"Then let's do it. We'll go tonight."

"What if they catch us?"

"They'll kill us either way. Got nothing to lose."

Jane rested her forehead on Sam's shoulder. "Why did it have to happen to us?"

He wrapped his arms around her. "I don't know Jane. I really don't know." But he knew one thing. He was willing to die for her.

* * *

She had never, _ever _seen so many people in one place. Women were wearing pants like men, and some girls wore skirts that were much too short. Sara stood like a small, shrunken doll close to Serena while she looked through racks of sale items. Sara averted her eyes from a group of girls her age and played with the hem of her sweater.

"How about this?" Serena produced a sleeveless top for Sara's approval.

Her hands found her way to her lips where she anxiously chewed and picked at them. She shook her head.

"Why not? It's a great color, it would look good on you," Serena held it up to see but Sara stepped back.

"It doesn't have sleeves," she murmured, hugging herself.

"Okay, well how about you look around and we'll find you something _you_ like, then."

Apprehensively, Sara turned and looked over a the nearest racks. After a moment, she produced a long, off-white dress that reminded her of her aunt. The sleeves hung at elbow length and although the neckline could've been higher, she found she liked it.

"Go try it on! I'm going to look around a bit more, I'll bring you some things." Serena herded her into a dressing room and went off in search of more options.

The dress fit beautifully. When she stepped out of the dressing room, she stood before Serena, who smiled.

"You look beautiful."

A blush crept into her cheeks. It was unlike anything she'd ever worn. Jane would have looked beautiful in it.

Eventually they left the store with the dress and a sweater, and a necklace Serena had talked her into. Modest clothing for a modest girl. She had no understanding of money, stuck close by in crowded areas, and all but refused to explore anything on her own. Somehow, Serena had gotten the child she always wanted, but Sara's discomfort made her feel bad, and they headed home after only a short while.

In the car, Sara watched as others passed on the sidewalks, watched children playing in parks, and men in suits talking on little black things, and while the streets were far from bustling, they were not the same as the place she had grown up in.

This world was a foreign place and she wasn't sure if she liked it or not.

* * *

The car pulled up where it had the first time, but there was no woman screaming at him to go away to mark his presence. Actually, it seemed strangely quiet. This was different from the quiet of the countryside he knew. The field, newly sown, was desolate. No one seemed to wander the lane as he had seen on his first visit months ago. There were no sounds of cattle, no sounds of chicken or the chattering of women in their gardens. It was as if a deafening curtain of sadness had fallen over the place, but he couldn't place why.

James shut the car door and looked out into the freshly planted field. Trying his best to adopt some bravery, he persevered down the path until he found the familiar house he had once visited. He was going to approach the front door from the porch, but spotted the woman on the porch in a rocking chair. Her face seemed more gaunt than he could remember, eyes more fatigued. Her skin took on a pallor that rivaled the face of the moon, and at once he took pity on her, understanding why Sara was so adamant about her rescue.

"Mrs. Abbney?" he asked, stopping short in front of the porch.

She stopped rocking and slowly looked his way as if she were dreaming. Upon realizing who he was she leaped to her feet and grabbed a pair of gardening clippers that had been carelessly left on the porch table. "You leave me alone! Your kind have done enough already!"

He raised both hands for her to see and took two steps back. "Please, I don't want to do you any harm. Your daughter asked me to come for you and I didn't want to but I'm here now and I'm not leaving without you."

"You've seen my Sara?" her voice was hoarse as she stepped out into the spring day's light. The gardening shears fell from her hand and volleyed down the step. Something in her eyes changed, that fearful resolve melting into hope. It was then that he noticed the yellowing brown collar of bruises around her throat. It made the skin on the back of his neck stand on end. She seemed little more than a skeleton-as if he touched her, she might easily break.

"I have. She's at home with my wife. I'm here to take you to her."

"How do I know you're not lying to me?"

James stared at her for a moment, trying to think of what he could say to prove it to her that she could trust him. "Would I be back here risking my life if she hadn't demanded I come to get you?"

The faint trace of a smile edged its way onto her face. Of course. Of course Sara would've insisted. It would mean, too, that everything Henry had said on the day of the Choosing was true.

She approached him at arm's length. "Take me to her."

"Eliza?" Sam and Jane rounded the side of the house. "You..." Jane whispered. "Please, you have to help us." She budged in front of Eliza, the three of them suddenly urgent and close.

"He says he has Sara," Eliza interjected. Sam put a hand on her shoulder, a relieved smile spreading across his face.

"It's not safe here. You have to get us out," Jane begged. "Help us, please."

James tried to absorb them all, but he realized now was not a time to think. If anyone else caught sight of him, there would most certainly be trouble. "Okay, okay but it has to be right now. Come on, we have to go-"

"Don't. You. Dare."

The four of them froze, turning back to the porch where Georgia stood wielding a rifle.

"Eliza, you get back in this house immediately," she demanded. "I'll deal with him."

"No." Eliza stood her ground. "No I won't."

Georgia fired one shot that miraculously missed them all, but they didn't stop to be grateful. The four of them sprinted up the road to the car as Georgia loaded another bullet into the chamber and a second shot rang out. They piled quickly into the car and James did not waste time getting them out as fast as he could, driving to the end of the road with the gas pedal nearly pushed to the floor.

The car sped the full two miles away until the houses they had known became tiny pinpricks on the horizon before James dared to slow down. Jane cast a glance over her shoulder, fearing that the ordeal had been too easy, but for now she leaned into Sam, adrenaline leaving her in subtle waves until she felt only tired. The dirt road turned to a gradual gravel one that crunched and popped beneath them.

Eliza braced herself against the car's interior, uncomfortable and rigid. She jerked in surprise as he turned the air conditioner on, but her initial shock turned to curiosity as the air around them grew cooler. "How far away are we?" she asked, looking to James.

"Not far at all. You'll be together soon."

Eliza nodded, wondering if her choices had been the right ones. Even if he didn't have Sara, she realized she had at least one thing.

She was free.

* * *

Sara paced the length of the porch. "They should've been back by now. Why aren't they here yet?" She was biting her lips and fingers down to scabs.

Serena took her by the shoulders, encouraging her to sit on the step beside her, her arms wrapped maternally around the girl. "Don't worry. They'll be here soon, I promise." Her fingers worked through fine strands of hair, braiding and unbraiding until Sara, feeling soothed, rested her head in Serena's lap.

"What if he doesn't find her?" Sara asked. "What if she's dead?"

"She's not dead, calm down."

"What if they killed him? Oh god, it's all my fault..."

Serena hesitated. "No. They'll be here. The gotta be. They _will_ be."

"Will you tell me a story?"

"What?"

"Tell me a story. About you and James. Or something else. I'm too nervous."

Serena humored her with the story of how they met; college sweethearts. He'd bumped into her at a football game (a concept she had to expand on) and spilled a beer down the front of her shirt. He kept messing it up, trying to be smooth and subtle, Serena said. He wasn't very good at it. But he offered to trade shirts with her and let her humiliate him any way she wanted for the night. A few weeks later, they were dating, and two years after college they were married.

A black car turned down the road toward the house. "Is that them?" Sara asked, lifting her head from Serena's lap. The car slowed and turned into the driveway, with Sara on her feet instantly. "Momma? Momma!" Serena reached for her hand before she could run in front of the car. Finally James turned the ignition off and helped Eliza from the car.

Sara crashed into her like a tidal wave, burying her face in her mother's hair. She pushed away and studied Eliza's eyes for a telltale sign, and finding nothing, she threw her arms around her again. The language of hysterics seemed to be one only the two of them could understand.

"Are you alright?" when they finally calmed, Eliza smoothed the hair away from Sara's face to see her better. "What are you wearing, what happened to your clothes?"

"I'm alright. Are _you _alright?" Sara's eyes wandered to the purple collar at her mother's throat and then back up to the eyes she shared. "Where's father?" She didn't expect he would join them. He was too rooted in the traditions he was born into and maybe it was just as well that way.

Eliza's face turned unreadable. She looked down at Sara's hands in hers.

"Mother?"

"He's gone."

Sara hugged her mother tight again. "What happened?"

"Chosen." Eliza's voice was empty and dry. She would not mention the beastly visitor in the night wearing her husband's face.

Sara gave a grave nod, sniffling. She wasn't sure how she should feel about things like this. Had never been sure.

"We're glad you're safe." Jane finally spoke up.

Sara, grinning and relieved stepped around her mother to hug them both too. "And you're alright?"

"We are," Sam answered for them both.

"And...and grandmother?"

No one seemed willing to speak. Finally Sam shook his head. Sara brought the three of them together in a hug. "It's fine. It's alright, we're all okay and that's what matters, isn't it? We're all okay. We're safe now."

"Not for good," Jane whispered.

"What do you mean?" Serena asked. James gave her shoulders a squeeze.

"The invasion isn't the start of something," Jane said with such calm simplicity. "It's the end of something."


	14. Episode 13: The Body Snatchers

The atmosphere on the patio was warm, despite the odd number of guests and strangeness of present company. Eliza and Jane long ago shooed Serena from the kitchen, offering to cook a meal in thanks. They laughed together, exchanging stories, and though Eliza smiled, Sara noticed she kept herself separate. After dinner, Jane enlisted Sara's help cleaning up in the kitchen (Serena's protests were met with firm resistance) while the men dismissed themselves to the garage, leaving Serena and Eliza on the patio alone.

Eliza walked to the end of the patio and stared out at the yard. "I've seen the stars every night of my life. This one is the first without," Eliza said, looking up to see the pale face of the moon in the dark sky. "What is the moon without stars but another sun?"

Serena wondered what it must be like to live a life like that, how different her life might be if she'd been born somewhere else. She thumbed the rim of her wine glass and said nothing.

"I want you to know I'm very grateful for what you've done for my family. What's left of it, I mean." Eliza faced Serena again with a reserved smile and eyes that seemed glassy with tears. "I can't give you much in return and I'm sorry for that."

"Don't be," Serena said, her smile genuine and warm. "I would hope that if the situation had been reversed, you'd do the same for me. I saw your baby there all by herself and I did what I would want anyone else to do for mine." "What did happen to the rest of your family?"

"Gone," Eliza whispered, turning to face the back yard again as she sat down. She didn't want Serena to watch her cry.

"What happened to them?" Serena asked, her cop's sense of curiosity taking over again.

"I had a son. Four years older than Sara, but he died. He was a year old and I was sixteen." Saying the words out loud made her breathe a little easier, as if she were letting go of a terrible, silenced secret. The truth had been the elephant in the room for so many years; now she was ready to set it free. "He died the same way my husband did."

Serena said nothing and watched while Eliza seemed to gather herself, brushing tears away. _'Come out of the darkness,' _Serena thought, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"There's a ceremony every year to ensure a prosperous harvest. They draw a name and that person is sacrificed to the Harvest God," her voice broke. "This must sound so stupid." _'STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!' _her mind echoed bitterly.

While she was horrified, Serena swallowed her disgust. "It sounds like you must be the strongest and bravest woman I ever met." The woman wrapped her arms around Eliza, who was at first startled by the touch. But it had been so long since she'd been given any form of human affection like this and she couldn't bring herself to pull away from Serena's touch.

"And that's how you lost both of them." Serena finished. She had gone from envying the simple life Eliza had been given to being repulsed by it.

The words were final straws that broke the camel's back. Eliza crumpled in her embrace, sobbing hysterically until she could collect herself a little. "I'm j-just so sc-ared," she hiccuped, sniffing and gasping for breaths. Serena rubbed her back until she seemed to calm.

"What scares you?" Serena finally asked, wondering if she couldn't chase some of the monsters out of this woman's life.

"Lately?" Eliza sniffled again, looking into Serena's eyes with her own dark and weary ones. "Everything."

* * *

Frank, Abberline, and Georgia were not enough and couldn't be enough.

Hamish was long gone now and no one was sure of what happened to Eliza, Jane, and Sam. There was no decided leader of the church. It should have fallen to Henry Abbney, but he had died so long ago that the possibility of passing the role down the family line had become obsolete. Georgia suggested Silas, but he was young and unprepared. As it was, he was better suited for work than delivering sermons. Michael Eddleburn volunteered, but no one listened to the drunken ramblings of a madman.

Still, they walked blindly to the church where Frank would attempt to talk about the Lord.

He walked down the road like an angel just stepping from heaven. A young boy turned to look behind and tugged at his mother's hand until she turned to look too. She stopped so abruptly that another person walked into her, and by then they were all turning to him, gasping in shock. One woman fell to her knees.

Frank, Abberline, and Georgia looked on with knowing smiles, as if they'd been in on the secret the entire time. As if they knew it was going to happen.

"Calm yourselves," he stopped mere feet from the crowd, hands up in surrender. "There is no need to be alarmed."

"We saw you killed!" someone cried.

"Yes you did, my child," he reached out and pressed his palm to a weeping young woman's forehead. "You bore witness to my execution, and now you bear witness to the gift of the Harvest God. After years of servitude, he saw fit to redeliver me to you, his devoted servants, as Jesus Christ himself was risen."

There was a murmur of blessing that rippled among them, and then a swarm of voices like bees in a hive. Questions, a million of them from every angle. But he silenced them.

"My friends, my children, my family," he smiled quaintly. "You have been blessed. You have been chosen." There was a halting gasp of nervousness. "Pardon, no, no. You have been selected for a sacred purpose." The response was mixed, but several people who had dropped stood again. "Be not afraid." Hamish passed through the crowd, his eyes glancing briefly to the tree, where the black, winged figure sat, sharpening a scythe.

"You die for a noble cause," Hamish nodded with a calm smile.

Almost as if on cue, the slaughter began. Young children snatched in the claws of indescribable creatures who slit their throats before a scream of terror could escape their lips. Women who watched in horror only to have their necks snapped. Men who tried in vain to stop the madness torn in half by monsters who no longer paraded in the masks of familiar faces. The killing was ceaseless until the rain-softened lane was a muddy, slick combination of blood and muck.

Those monsters tore hungrily past the flesh of the souls they'd taken, devouring with reckless abandon and blatant disregard for the usual care their kind took during a feed. They ate until blood dripped from their splinter-like teeth and remnants of mangled tissue were all that remained beneath their claws.

Hamish walked freely through the wreckage, unafraid as he made his way to the church, his loyal followers trailing behind him.

It was then that the dark, winged angel dropped from the trees whistling a cheery tune as he stood over the remains of the villagers. He'd waited many years for his revenge and he was glad now to have it. He went from one corpse to the next, claiming whatever souls the damned had left to offer.

A few houses down, in the attic window, a young man stood watching the carnage. He had served his purpose. His mother and sister were safe. Henry could ask for nothing more.

For the last time, he turned away in the window and vanished from sight, an apparition never to be seen again.

The others stood in sudden realization that their purpose was fully realized, and at that juncture became aware that no one was sure what to do next.

Hamish stepped closer to them, smiling. "My brothers and sisters, this marks the beginning of a new day." His line of sight caught Michael Eddleburn's house. He approached it, knowing the louse didn't attend Sunday Mass anymore, when suddenly the door swung open on its hinge.

The man sauntered out into the light of day, clapping. "Good show." He smiled at Hamish and glanced at the others. "I was beginning to worry if I'd chosen the right soldier for the task, you did fool around there for a while. I was disappointed. But this! What a treat."

Hamish's mouth hung open. "Ko-Kofal?"

"You didn't _actually _expect me to send you off all devil-may-care without a little insurance did you?"

"But you...you're..."

"Apparently a very remarkably convincing human? Yes, I do agree." He walked a few steps away and then turned back. "Next time, my dear, see that you do not compromise our entire mission by wrapping yourself up in trivial matters of rank." He walked away whistling as he passed the dark winged angel who whistled in harmony with him.

* * *

The warm, buttery smell of pancakes and syrup wafted through the house and woke Serena from her bed. James had gotten up before she did-his spot beside her was empty. She wandered her way downstairs to the kitchen where Eliza stood at the counter, humming as she flipped another pancake onto a plate piled high. Sara was putting the finishing touches on the breakfast table while Sam poured orange juice. James sat reading a Saturday paper until he noticed her and put it away. "Good morning," he said as she walked past, grabbing her hand and kissing it.

As the others took their seat at the table, James sat forward. "So I've been doing a lot of thinking," he began. "We do enjoy having you here, but I think you would much more comfortable in a place that feels more...familiar."

They sat in varying degrees of shock (and in Eliza's case, fear), wondering if they were about to be sent back.

"There are communities of people similar to yours. Amish communities, they're called. They do a lot of what you're all familiar with: building things, baking, farming, church every Sunday. They're a very quiet group. I think you'd like it there."

"So...you're going to take us there," Sara said, a little saddened at the idea.

"Just for a visit. If you don't like it, Serena and I will help you get on your feet the best we can."

"I don't want to see it," Jane said softly, looking down as her appetite vanished. Sam reached for her hand and put his arm around her shoulder.

"That's perfectly fine," James nodded.

Eliza watched her sister feeling a mix of betrayal and sadness before she looked back to their hosts. "I do."

* * *

"Where are we?" Eliza asked, watching the countryside stretch out as far as the eye could see, flanked on one side by mountains.

"Lancaster county," James smiled at Serena in the passenger seat and then looked back at her. "It's...far away from where you both were. We thought it might be safer for you. More comforting."

Sara dozed on her mother's shoulder, her hand out the window, playing in the unusually warm breeze. She was content with things, or as content as she thought one could be without a father. Her mind flitted back to Henry and she wondered what had become of his ghost, but she put the thought out of her mind and instead smiled happily up at Eliza.

"But where are we going?" Eliza asked.

"There's an Amish community that's pretty abundant in Lancaster. You'll have to learn if you choose to intergrate, but it's closer to the life you know. Today we're just going to take a tour. See what you think." James turned the car off the gravel path and onto a winding, downward drive. The houses and barns were spaced wider apart than Eliza thought was usual, but children played in the spaces between while a horse and buggy passed the car.

The man driving the buggy waved and smiled in recognition. "James. What brings you back?"

"Brought some friends with me."

The buggy sped up until it seemed right to park. James and Serena stepped out, greeting friends they seemed to know, but Sara and Eliza remained in the car, wary.

Sara exchanged a worried glance with her mother, clutching her hand in fear of the unknown, but James opened the door and gave them no choice but to give into politeness and come out into the world.

"This is Eliza and her daughter, Sara. They grew up in a community similar to yours, but it fell on hard times."

"Sorry to hear about it," an older woman said. "What happened?"

Eliza hesitated. "It...it's too long a story, I assure you. Too distressing to tell."

The woman nodded and took Eliza's hand, giving it a tender pat. "Well, suppose we'll sort you out then. This here's my son Gabriel, my other boy's out in the field now, but you might meet him later."

Gabriel shook Eliza's hand and for a moment their gaze connected. He could not have been much older than herself and he smiled handsomely. Eliza blushed and looked down, her hand slipping from his.

"Why don't we begin the tour?"

At the end of the afternoon, just as dusk was setting in, the group made their way back to the car. Eliza was smiling in ways Sara had never seen before and she couldn't help but smile herself. As they headed back to the house in Grove, Sara rested her head on her mother's shoulder.

"Will we go?" she asked.

"Do you want to?"

They spoke in whispers in the back, Serena dozing in the passenger seat up front while James fiddled with the radio.

"They seem nice," Sara yawned. "I think we would be happy there." Her fingers played in the wind out of a gap in the window. "I think Gabriel liked you."

Eliza could do nothing but smile.

* * *

A week had passed since their visit. Serena bid them goodbye that morning as she had to work, but in the early afternoon, they piled into the car and made the long drive back to Lancaster county.

"You're sure you won't come with us?" Eliza asked, holding Jane's hand.

"Actually, I'm looking forward to it. It'll be an adventure."

They walked along, watching children play in the space between houses.

"You'll be happy here," Jane nodded with a sincere smile. "I know you will. You'll fit. I wouldn't. I never have, you know that."

Eliza considered arguing to the contrary, but Jane's words rang true. They'd always known it, really. It began with the first vision when she was eight and went onward. Still, Eliza loved her sister unconditionally and noticed her eyes watering. "But I'll miss you..." she found the words coming sheepishly without warning.

"It's not goodbye forever, Lizzy," Jane stopped and squeezed both of Eliza's hands in hers. "It's only goodbye for now. James said we were welcome to visit. I expect we will."

"You're all I have," Eliza forced a watery laugh through tears.

"No. You've got Sara. You have so many prospects here, Lizzy. So many more than we ever had before."

She laughed again and sniffled, dabbing her tears away with the back of her hand. "Leave it to you. Ever the sunny optimist."

Jane hugged her, memorizing the smell of her sister's hair and the broadness of her shoulders. For once she was beginning to feel less bony, Jane noticed. She shed a single tear but brushed it away. "You are going to be so happy here," she whispered into Eliza's ear, eschewing the onslaught of sadness that threatened to ruin Jane's strong resolve.

"Tell me again where you'll be? So I know," Eliza said, breaking their connection.

"Sam and I are staying in Harrisburg. With James' mother for now. His brother is going to help us find work and get settled."

"You promise to visit?"

"Yes, of course." Jane hugged her tight again. "This is going to be good. For both of us."

Eliza gave a tearful nod.

* * *

**One Year Later**

"...these unexplained and mysterious phenomenon. We're going to discuss further with an expert from Penn State, but first we want to hear what you think. So go ahead, give us a call, we'll be wai-"

Jane dusted the tuning knob with powdered sugar as she adjusted the radio's station. She smeared more across her brow as she crossed the kitchen to the oven, humming along with the radio now set to some classic rock station she'd taken a liking to. She stuffed her hand into an oven mitt and reached into the belly of the beast, pulling out a large tray of cupcakes before setting them aside and returning to the icing that mixed across the kitchen.

Jane turned the machine off, still in awe of how efficient things worked in the bakery's kitchen. She dipped a powdery finger into the pink icing and pulled out a glob to taste. Perfectly sweet. The bell over the door to the shop chimed and she could hear her coworker talking to someone up front.

She adored working in the bakery. She'd learned so much and contributed to so much with what she'd been taught in the year she'd spent there. Sam said she always returned home smelling like sugar and their life together, albeit humble, was a happy one.

"Hey, Jane. A customer wants to meet you," Lacey came back smiling. "Oh, here. You got a spot there," she picked up a rag and wiped the sugar from her coworker's forehead.

They went out to the main seating area where a gentleman waited. He turned with a smile, holding a plate of carrot cake. She would have known him anywhere.

Hamish.

She tried to diffuse the look of shock she must've worn, but she was sure she failed. "Hello," she nodded quietly.

"This cake is the best I've ever eaten. In all of Harrisburg, perhaps," he smiled, a flicker of knowing only she could recognize.

His eyes were wrong, but she forced herself to nod. "Thank you sir, I appreciate that. But I should get back to the kitchen, I think I left something in the oven."

"Oh yes, go. Wouldn't want to burn it would we? What a waste of effort that might be."

Jane started away until he called after. "I suppose I'll see you again then. I couldn't imagine myself not stopping in, now and again."

She nodded mechanically and turned back to the kitchen. Once there, she grabbed for the phone and punched in a number, waiting anxiously for the other line to pick up.

"Jane? What's going on?" There were sounds of construction in the background.

"Sam, he's here. Hamish is here. He was in the bakery. I think he's been watching me." She felt fearful tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

"Stay where you are and don't leave the bakery until I come inside to get you. We have to call James."

"If he's even James anymore..." Jane was having a hard time restraining the panic in her voice.

There was a stretch of silence on Sam's end. "Are we going to tell your sister?"

Ruffled, Jane dropped to the floor in front of the oven. "No. No, we can't. She just got her life back..."

"Jane...what if it's happening again?"

"No, I told you it wasn't the beginning of something it was the..." a sick and sudden sense of knowing flashed across her eyes. "The end. They're invading. The-those... They're invading. Sam, we have to go."

"Go where?" he asked.

"I don't know but we need to get my sister and Sara. It needs to be now. They'll be targeting smaller communities first. Shit..._Grove..."_

"Relax, I'm coming to get you. I'll come get you, we'll go get your sister and we'll head for James and Serena. We know what we're looking for, right? So we'll know."

"Right. Right. Okay, yeah. Okay. I'll... I'll wait here. How long will you be?"

"I'm leaving right now. I'll see you soon." He went to hang up but her voice called him back.

"I love you."

"I love you too. I'll be there soon." Part of him wondered if he would or not. How serious things might've become in a year's time. But he couldn't linger on it. All his life he'd been taught to protect the women, but he had doubts about whether or not his efforts would be enough.

* * *

Eliza bounced a baby on her hip as she cooed softly to him. Other young children sat on their mamas' laps and on empty table space while the older ones learned how the trade worked. Sara and another little girl added more sweets to the table from beneath it. The farmer's market was buzzing with life and smelled of fish and root vegetables mingled with a touch of maple sweetness and butter and the aroma of freshly baked breads.

She liked market days. It was easier to get lost in a task when there was one to complete. She thought less about their old life on those days.

Nightmares still woke her in the middle of the night, but Gabriel had been kind- almost saint-like -about it. At first she'd been reluctant to tell him, but he insisted they should have no secrets. Now, a year later, there were none. She didn't sleepwalk. Didn't hold her breath every time she heard him come inside. He slept with his arms around her to make her feel safe, and it worked. Who'd have believed after all that time all she really needed was some human security and assurance that she would be alright? And to Sara's credit, she helped immensely, always there when needed and if not, she was never too far away.

And there was the baby. Strong, happy, full of health and life. She'd forgotten what it was like to have a child so lively squirming in her arms, but there he was. Her little son. If Hamish could see her now...

He chewed happily on a small wooden ring that fit only his hands. Eliza scanned the dying crowds and caught sight of a blonde head among the shoppers. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up in silent, subconscious recognition. She would've known the vague shape of that woman's body anywhere.

She turned, just enough, looking at the man to her left with a smile, and through the crowds she spotted Eliza.

Georgia.

Eliza turned on her heel immediately and made a beeline for Sara, handing the baby off to another one of the women for a moment while they stepped away.

"What is it? What's wrong? Mother, you look frightened. You're pale as a ghost."

"Your grandmother is here."

Sara's face, too, drained of color. "You saw her? Here? But what could she be doing here?"

"Never mind all of that, I feel ill. Tell Gabriel I'd like to go home. I won't be but a minute."

Sara nodded dutifully and went to take the baby back before she sought out her stepfather. Eliza nervously meandered toward the bathroom through a thick of people, feeling nausea rise in her chest. She caught herself on a sink and retched into it.

The bathroom was eerily quiet as a stall door opened with a squeak.

Eliza ran the faucet and cupped her hand beneath the stream, sipping the water one handful at a time.

"Oh dear, you poor thing. Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine, thank you," Eliza whispered, placing a cold, wet hand on the back of her neck.

"Let me help you, sweetheart," she withdrew a handkerchief from her purse as Eliza stood up.

The air left her lungs, leaving her dizzy as she stumbled back toward the door. The very likeness of her mother stood before her, smiling.

"What's the matter?" She took a step closer. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I have to go," she whispered breathlessly and hurried out, hands shaking while her eyes burned.

"Is everything alright?" Sara asked when she returned.

"Where's the baby? Do you have him? Where's Gabriel?"

"He's safe, mother. We're leaving."

It wasn't until she moved out into the sunlight in open air that it felt like she could breathe a little easier.

* * *

Her mother did not speak of what had happened in the marketplace, but Sara knew it haunted her. In the days since, she had become more jumpy and hyper-aware. She didn't sleep well and looked tired in the mornings, but she forced herself to smile and move on. Jane and Sam, word had come, were going to pay them a visit soon, but Sara hadn't learned when that would be. In an effort to help her mother, she tried instead to move past it.

Sara walked beside Hannah, sharing the weight of the basket as they went along the path laughing. The dying summer sun was bright on her face, the smell of fresh trimmed grass was sweet in the air, and the events of the last year, while not forgotten, had grown distant like a bad dream.

"You think he likes me?" Sara asked.

"Of course he does. Everyone likes you," Hannah said matter of factly. "The question is, do _you _like _him_?"

Sara was quiet for a minute. "I don't know. Hadn't really thought about it."

"Would you let him court you if he asked?"

Sara blushed. The Amish customs they had adopted over the year still felt somewhat foreign to her. "I don't know."

"There's time, I guess. But I heard he wants to ask you to sing in church with him this Sunday."

She turned even brighter and Hannah laughed. They came upon Sara's house where Eliza was out hanging the wash on the line. A baby played in the clean clothes piled into the basket.

"I have to go, I'll see you tomorrow." She ran off to help her mother with the wash.

"Could you hold your brother, he keeps tipping the basket," Eliza looked down where the boy, nine months old, sat drooling and cheerfully chewing on a handcloth.

Sara scooped him from the basket and hefted him skyward, something that made him giggle as he poked his knuckles into he mouth. "Are you making trouble for mother, Ben?" She cuddled him close and danced around with him while Eliza folded a sheet.

The rose had long returned to her cheeks, her light hair shining and lightened by the sun. They exchanged smiles as Gabriel walked up into the yard behind Eliza and squeezed her shoulders. She looked at him with a smile, taking his hand as he lifted her laundry basket under his arm. She tugged the tie on the back of her apron, revealing the slight swell of her stomach as she tossed it in with the other clean laundry.

Sara followed behind, the baby in her arms as the summer sun began to kiss the horizon goodnight.

Down the lane a boy came running to his father in the barn.

"Papa! Come quick, there's somethin' in the corn!"


End file.
